vWbWJ^ V 




Qass. 
Book- 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



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IRecoUectione an5 Xettere 

OF 

ERNEST RENAN 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FKEN'CH BV 



ISABEL F. HAPGOOD 



NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

104 & 106 FOTTPT 



U6^ 



1RecoUection6 anb Xettere 

OF 

ERNEST RENAN 



TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH BY 

ISABEL P.^HAPGOOD 



7ff ^ V^ 

NEW YORK 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
X04 & iq6 fourth avenue 



XsM3 



Copyright, 1892, by 
CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 



All rights reserved. 



THE MERSHON COMPANY 
RAHWAV, N, J, 



PREFACE. 



The composition of this little volume was sug- 
gested to me, so far as the first part is concerned, 
at least, by my dear friend Calmann-Levy, in one 
of the last visits which he paid me at the College 
de France, about the month of May last. We cal- 
culated together the delay which the completion of 
the fourth volume of the " History of the People 
of Israel " would entail. The result of our calcu- 
lation was, that it could be done only for the end 
of the year 1892. *' Could you not," he said to me, 
'' give me, in the meantime, a volume of miscellanies 
which could appear next winter ? " 

I enumerated to him several instructive articles 
which had never been collected together. " No," 
he said to me; "take me as the measure of the 
public. What we wish from you, just now, is a 
volume in the style of your ' Souvenirs,' interesting 

for everybody, simple, personal " " I have," I 

told him, " several Breton papers, made up of old 
images, already firmly fixed. Perhaps others will 
occur to me. But, in order to form a volume from 
them, years would be required." " You have also 
some short speeches, some lectures. Could not you 



Vi PREFACE. 

with these compose a volume which would form a 
sort of sequel to your " Souvenirs " ? 

I have on several occasions reproached the 
minds of our day with being too subjective, with 
busying themselves too much over themselves, with 
not being sufficiently carried away, absorbed by 
the object, that is to say, by that which is before 
us, by the world, nature, history. It is always bad 
to talk of one's self. That presupposes that one 
thinks a great deal about one's self ; but time de- 
voted to thinking of one's self is a theft from God, 
as people would have said in former days. At the 
time when I began to make that series of my con- 
fidences, in the Revice des Deux Mondes, I met 
Jules Sandeau, who told me that he had found pleas- 
ure in reading them. ^^ Didcia vitia f" I answered 
him ; " the public, which is indulgent now, will take 
its revenge some day. And how shall I know when 
it is on the point of changing its mind ?".... 
'' No, Renan," he said to me, " the public will al- 
ways be glad when you speak to it of yourself." 
Sandeau's opinion has led me rather far, it may 
be ; but let my friends who treat these little vol- 
umes as puerilities cease their fears ; I shall com- 
mit no more. I have been playing a rather danger- 
ous game for some time : talking incessantly of 
dying, and gaining constantly in health. I am 
afraid of being soon called upon to keep my word, 
under penalty of no longer being taken seriously. 
Having entered upon one course of action, I am 



PREFACE. Vll 

speedily assailed by this verse, which Augustin 
Thierry often quoted to me to hold me back, when 
he thought that I was going too far : 

Claudite jam en rivos pueri ; sat prata biberunt.* 

A few days after the conversation which I held 
with my dear Calmann, I heard one morning of the 
fatal blow which had taken him from us. Great 
was my grief. Calmann was one of the best men 
whom I have ever known. He really belonged to 
the tribe of those who love peace ; he had no pre- 
sumption, no pride, none of the defects which lead 
men astray and render them unhappy. The 
serenity of his soul was that of a good man, sure 
of being in accord with superior rule. He had 
true piety, that which comes from a tradition re- 
ceived by the heart, and he followed Hillet's pre- 
cept : " Be the disciple of Aaron, who loved 
peace." The frightful egotism of this epoch had 
not attacked his house ; for he was not an egotist 
himself. The profound sentiment of affection and 
respect which his collaborators cherished for him 
was touching. He had solved for himself the 
great difficulty of our time, which is to make 
numerous subordinates contribute to a common 
work. He solved it by making himself beloved 
by them, by making them love what they did. 
Ah ! if all the chiefs of great industries did the 
same, the ulcers which are devouring us, and which 

* Close the gates, boys ; the meadows have drunk enough. 



Viii PREFACE. 

threaten the life of modern societies, would soon 
be healed. 

It was in his family, above all, that he was him- 
self, calm, happy, sure of recovering new life in a 
united family, in perfect accord with him. Every 
day he played for an hour with his grandsons, 
tasting that great joy of seeing the windows of life 
open on one side, when they were closing on the 
other. The veneration which he cherished for his 
brother, during the latter's life and after his death, 
arose from the admiration which he felt from 
childhood for the astounding intelligence of 
Michel ; that marvelously lucid brain, that sur- 
prising activity subjugated him. He had not cre- 
ated the house, but he was well constituted to 
maintain and continue it. His rare judgment 
enabled him to avoid all errors ; thanks to him, 
the great publishing establishment founded by 
Michel remained at the service of French letters, 
a powerful instrument in disseminating them. 
The hours which he came to spend with me re- 
stored my youth. I feel the need of uprightness 
about me ; I like to have the pages on which I write 
well ruled, and, as I grow older, my great joy is to 
retrace old memories. Farewell, dear Calmann ! 

It is under the auspices of this friendly name, 
that I present once more, to an indulgent public, 
a volume composed of those little frivolities which, 
while evoking thought, render life amiable and 
cause it to be endured. Nevertheless, I have in- 



PREFACE. IX 

troduced into it a little philosophy ; in particular 
the examination of my conscience for 1889. I 
have not modified my manner of regarding the 
universe materially since that time. I perceive, 
more and more clearly, that we know very little of 
what we would like to know. In philosophy, one 
must have confidence in the infinite goodness, and 
guard one's self against vain eagerness. One 
gains nothing by importuning truth, by soliciting 
it every day. That is a bad sign, if you like ; 
truth is deaf and cold, and our ardor has no effect 
upon her. Die neue Philosophic — Die neuere 
Philosophic — Die neueste Philosophic (The new 
Philosophy — The newer Philosophy — The newest 
Philosophy). Good Heavens ! how childish are 
these rising degrees of emphasis ! Why thus dis- 
pute with each other for priority in error ! Let 
us learn to wait ; perhaps there is nothing at the 
end ; let us learn to be ignorant, that the* future 
may know. Who knows ? Perhaps truth is sad ; 
let us not be in such a haste to learn it. 

I am pained by the sort of agitation which I per- 
ceive in the young people who, by the privilege of 
their age, should be so serene. One would say that 
this young generation had read neither the history 
of philosophy nor Ecclesiastes. *' What has been 

is that which will be " But, dear children, 

it is useless to give yourselves such a headache. 
Amuse yourselves, since you are only twenty years 
old ; work also. If we know nothing of meta- 



X PREFACE. 

physics, on the other hand, physics, chemistry, 
astronomy, geology, and history, are full of revela- 
tions. Oh ! what things you will know in forty or 
fifty years, which I shall never know ! And then, 
what humanitarian problems you will see solved ! 
What is the Emperor William III. ? What will 
become of the conflict of European nationalities ? 
What turn will social questions take ? Will any- 
thing come out of the Socialistic movement, properly 
speaking? What will be the fate of the Papacy 
in the near future ? Alas ! I shall die before I have 
seen these things, and you will know them ! It is 
asserted that there exist in Lebanon, ancient 
Arabic testaments, where the dead man makes it a 
condition of his donations, that the people shall 
come and inform him, in his tomb, when the French 
become masters of the land once more. There are 
moments, in fact, when I say to myself, that there 
is a piece of news which, whispered furtively in my 
ear, in my grave, would make me quiver to the 
point of coming to life again. But I have too often 
read in the Bible that one really. knows nothing in 
the depths of sheol of what is taking place on 
the earth, that one hears nothing there, that one 
remembers nothing, to put any clause of that sort 
at the end of my will. 

Why rise in revolt against truths as old as the 
world ? Was it only yesterday that it was discov- 
ered that man is a fragile and perishable creature ? 
I am not one of those of whom that very ancient 



PREFACE. XI 

prophet speaks, Qui nihil patiebatur super contritione 
Joseph. 

I pity that poor Joseph, I pity the young men 
who are devoured by a pessimism which will not be 
consoled. We frequently read on ancient tombs : 
" Courage, dear so and so ; no one is immortal ; 
Hercules himself died." One may find the conso- 
lation rather feeble ; it is real, nevertheless 

Marcus Aurelius, dear fiiends, was superior to all 
others in goodness, and Marcus Aurelius was con- 
tent with it. Have we ever believed that we 
should not die ? Let us die calmly, in the com- 
munion of humanity and the religion of the future, 
when we have accomplished our destiny. The 
existence of the world is assured for a long time to 
come. France, in her giddy comet-flight, will per- 
♦haps come out of it better than certain indications 
would lead one to believe. The future of science 
is guaranteed ; for. in the scientific balance, every- 
thing is added, and nothing is lost. Error does 
not found anything ; no error lasts long. Let us be 
tranquil. In less than a hundred thousand years 
the earth will have discovered the means of supply- 
ing the place of coal, and, up to a certain point of 

virtue there will be bad times to traverse 

Moral value is on the ebb, that is sure ; abnega- 
tion has almost disappeared ; we see the day 
coming when everything will be syndicates, where 
organized egotism will take the place of love and 
devotion. Our century has created more and 



XU PREFACE. 

more perfect tools, without perceiving that the use 
of these tools supposes a certain degree of moral- 
ity, of conscience, of devotion, in work or in man. 
The two things which, up to this time, have resisted 
the fall of respect — the army and the church — both 
founded on illusions, will soon be carried away in 
the general torrent. It is of no consequence ; the 
resources of humanity are infinite. Eternal works 
will be accomplished, ^vithout the foundation of 
living forces, always rising to the surface, being 
ever exhausted. Science, above all, will continue 
to astonish us by its revelations, which will put the 
infinite of space and time in the place of a petty 
world conceived according to the measure of 
imagination of a child. Is the need of eternal 
consciousness which torments us, moreover, a 
simple illusion ? No, no. On such a matter, 
formal negations are as rash as absolute affirma- 
tions. Religion is true in the infinite. When God 
shall be complete he will be just. I am convinced 
that virtue will turn out definitely, one of these 
days, to have been the better part. Let us stand 
firm ; let us endure the raillery of those who pre- 
tend to be better informed. Merit lies in affirm- 
ing duty against apparent evidence. If virtue 
were a good investment, business people, who are 
very sagacious, would all have noticed the fact ; 
they would all be virtuous. No, it is a bad invest- 
ment in the finite order, but, in the infinite, 
parallels meet ; in the infinite, negations vanish, 
contradictions are merged. 



PREFACE. Xin 

Nothing proves to us that there exists in the 
world a central consciousness, a soul of the uni- 
verse ; but nothing proves the contrary, either. 
We do not remark in the universe any sign of 
deliberate and thoughtful action. We may affirm 
that no action of this sort has existed for millions 
of centuries. But thousands of centuries are noth- 
ing in infinity. What we call long is very short in 
comparison with another measure of size. When 
the chemist arranges an experiment that is to last 
for years, everything which takes place in his 
retorts is regulated by the laws of absolute uncon- 
sciousness ; which does not mean that a will has 
not intervened at the beginning of the experiment, 
and that it will not intervene at the end. Mil- 
lions of microbes may have been produced in 
the interval ; if these microbes had had sufficient 
intelligence, they might, by reasoning on the brief 
period permitted to their observations, allow them- 
selves to go so far as to say : *' The world has 
no room for special volitions." And they would 
be mistaken. 

What we call time is, perhaps, a minute between 
two miracles. " We do not know ; " that is all 
that one can say clearly about that which lies 
beyond the finite. Let us deny nothing, let us 
assert nothing, let us hope. An immense moral, 
and, perhaps, intellectual decline will follow the 
day when religion disappears from the world. We 
can get along without religion, because others have 
it for us. Even those who do not believe are 



XIV 



PREFACE, 



swept along by the more or less believing masses ; 
but woe to us on that day when the masses have 
no longer any enthusiasm. One can do m.uch less 
with a humanity which does not believe in the 
immortality of the soul than with a humanity 
which does believe in it. A man's value depends 
upon the proportion of religious sentiment which 
he has carried away with him from his early educa- 
tion, and which perfumes his whole life. The 
religious zones of humanity live on a shadow. 
We live only upon the shadow of a shadow. What 
will the people who come after us live upon ? 

Let us not quarrel over the quantity or the for- 
mula of religion ; let us confine ourselves to not 
denying it ; let us preserve the category of the 
unknown, the possibility of dreaming. Christian- 
ity has rendered us too exacting, too hard to please. 
We want heaven, nothing less. Let us content 
ourselves with smaller profits. A few years ago 
when M. de Rothschild was upholding with vivacity, 
in the Israelite consistory, the doctrine of the 
immortality of the soul, a learned Israelite of the 
most ancient school said to me : ''Can one under- 
stand that ? So rich a man — and he wants a para- 
dise to boot ! Let him leave that to us poor 
devils." 

The Middle Ages entertained very philosophical 
views on this point. Beasts receive in this world 
the reward for the good that they have done. It 
was related that some nuns had trained a hind to 



PREFACE. XV 

be very devout to the Virgin. The little animal 
knelt upon a praying-stool before the sacred 
image ; it was full of piety. As hinds possess 
no immortal soul, and, consequently, cannot enter 
into paradise, the nuns were very anxious that 
their little pet should have here below those pleas- 
ures which it craved ; they stuffed it with pre- 
serves. Very nearly the same thing can be read in 
the life of the Fathers of the desert. The lion 
which St. Anthony made come for the purpose of 
burying St. Paul, worked away with his claws with 
astonishing zeal. By way of wages, St. Anthony 
bestows upon him his benediction, the effect of 
which is to make him immediately meet a sheep, 
which he devours. Where is the justice for the 
sheep ? you will say to me. Ah ! that is precisely 
what is not clear ; or rather, it is clear that, in the 
whole organization of the world, there is not a 
trace of justice for the sheep. 

Let us accustom ourselves, like the nuns' hind, 
to be content with little dainties, let us try to ac- 
quire a taste for them. Let us be austere toward 
ourselves, but let us not impoverish life. On all 
these points we must not listen to the literary 
subtleties of our day. Let us not deprive human- 
ity of its joys ; let us find our joy in watching it 
enjoy itself. The joy of others is a great part of 
our joy ; it constitutes that great reward of the 
upright life, which is gayety. 

I have been much reproached for preaching 



XVI 



PREFACE. 



that religion which is easy in appearance, but 
which, in reality, is the most difficult of all. Not 
everyone is gay who wills to be so. For that, one 
must come of an ancient race, which has not suf- 
fered surfeit ; one must also be content with one's 
life. My life has been that which I wished, that 
which I conceived as the best. If I had to live it 
over again, I would not make any great change in 
it. On the other hand, I am a little afraid of the 
future. I shall have my biography and my legend. 
My legend ? . . . . Having some experience of ec- 
clesiastical writers, I can sketch out in advance the 
way in which it will be written up in Spanish in 
some Catholic review of Santa Fe, in the year 
2000. The legends of the enemies of the official 
church are all run in the same mold. The end 
which the book of the Acts attributes to Judas 
" crepuit medius " (he burst in twain) forms the 
perfunctory base of them. For one part of his- 
torical tradition, I shall end like that, in a manner 
combined from Arius and Voltaire. Heavens ! 
how black I shall be ! I shall be so all the more, 
because the Church, when she feels that she is lost, 
will end with malice ; she will bite like a mad dog. 
In spite of all this, I have confidence in reason. 
The enlightened portion of humanity, the only one 
for which I care, will form some esteem for me. 
Five hundred years hence the commission on the 
" Literary History of France," of the Academy of 
Inscriptions and BeUes-letters, will write my notice, 



PREFACE. XVll 

It will be obliged to combat documents which will 
tell it that I received a million from M. de Roths- 
child for writing the " Life of Jesus," nearly as 
much from the Emperor Napoleon III., who, later 
on, having dismissed me, gave me a rich pension 
on the Journal des Savants. The commission will 
unravel all this, in accordance with the rules of 
criticism ; I am sure that its verdict will be ad- 
mitted by sensible people. 

In reality, I fear nothing but apochryphal texts. 
There exists already a considerable mass of texts, 
sayings, and anecdotes which are attributed to me, 
and amuse the Catholic press. The clergy, as a 
rule, quote at second hand ; they buy few books; 
they take their quotations from the petty clerical 
reviews of the lower class. Already, almost every- 
thing that the Bishops quote as from me is fab- 
ricated, or full of contradictions. I entreat the 
friends of truth, in the future, not to accept, as 
coming from me, anything but what has appeared 
in the volumes published by Levy. The sayings 
and conversations which are attributed to me are 
nearly all invented. At the epoch when I published 
the " Vie de Jesus," journals paid by the Jesuits 
published, as mine, counterfeited autographs against 
which I have never entered a complaint. I repeat, 
five hundred years hence, the commission on the 
" Literary History " will be of the opinion that this 
proves nothing. And then, five hundred years is a 
yer^ long time, Man has such puerile ideas ^bout 



xvm 



PREFACE. 



death that he imagines he is less dead when he is 
buried than he is five hundred years later. We 
are less solicitous as to what will be said about us 
after the lapse of several centuries than of what is 
said about us on the day of our funeral, a day 
when we are still alive and the slumbering hero of 
the festival. 

I confess that I should not feel indifferent at be- 
ing the object of a fine funeral in Paris. There 
are, in the new people of Paris, materialistic sides 
which I no longer comprehend ;,but the people of 
Paris in former days were brave, chivalrous, friends 
of the right, absurd, idealistic. Oh ! how I have 
loved them ! To be for such people as that the 
cause of a day's repose, of joy, of love, and of 
virtue, would make me very happy. And if they 
were to introduce into it a little feasting and revelry, 
oh ! really, what harm would that do ? Popular 
festivals, even when their character is sad, always 
have a little the air of a fair ; for the masses need 
to purchase on the street, and a throng of poor 
people are glad to do a bit of peddling on that day, 
and earn a little money. 

I have related elsewhere how a pious person of 
the neighborhood of Nantes, who evidently believes 
that I live in the midst of feasts and dissipations, 
writes me the following words every three months : 
" There is a hell." This person, whom I thank for 
his good intentions, does not alarm me as much as 
he thinks. I should like to be sure that there is a 



PREFACE, XIX 

hell, for I prefer the hypothesis of hell to that 
of nothingness. Many theologians, think that, for 
the damned, it is better to be than not to be, and 
that the unhappy wretches are perhaps accessible 
to more than one good thought. For my part, 
I imagine that if the Eternal, in his severity, 
were to send me to that bad place, I should 
succeed in escaping from it. I would send up to 
my Creator a supplication which would make him 
smile. The course of reasoning by which I would 
prove to him that it was through his fault that I 
was damned, would be so subtle that he would find 
difficulty in replying to it. Perhaps he would 
admit me to paradise, where people must be dread- 
fully bored. He certainly does allow that Satan, 
criticism, to enter, from time to time, among the 
children of God to amuse the assembly a little. 

To tell the truth, as I have already allowed it to 
be understood elsewhere, the fate which would suit 
me best is purgatory, a charming place, where 
many charming romances begun on earth must be 
continued, and which one can be in no haste to 
leave, especially in view of the few attractions of 
paradise. What sometimes renders me not so very 
anxious to attain that place of delight is its mo- 
notony. Can one change one's place there ? 
Heavens ! how quickly one will have exhausted 
one's neighbor ! Trips from planet to planet would 
suit me well enough ; but the devout old women, 
who, they say, will form the majority of the elect, 



XX PREFACE. 

would not suit me at all. May God's will be 
done ! 

Celestial Father, I thank thee for life ! It has 
been sweet and precious to me, surrounded as I 
have been by excellent beings who have not allowed 
me to doubt thy designs. I have not been exempt 
from sin ; I have had the defects of all men ; but 
I have always pulled the bridle of reason in time. 
Whatever those who call themselves thy priests 
may say, I have not committed any very evil actions. 
I have loved truth, and I have made sacrifices 
for it; I have desired thy day, and I still believe in 
it. Thy joys are promised to the sincere man ; 
the frivolous man shall not approach thee. During 
my first journey in Syria, I received hospitality in a 
patriarchal house of Lebanon, where there was an 
aged father, of great piety, who conceived a great 
affection for me. When the '' Life of Jesus " ap- 
peared, he heard many sermons against me, and 
entered into great doubts. He applied to his son 
Dominiqiie, who was well posted on French affairs 
and who had accompanied me in my travels, " Tell 
me, my son, what are M. Renan's errors. Let us 
proceed in due order. Among the things which 
must be -believed there is, first, God the Father. 
Let us see — does he believe in God the Father?" 
" Oh ! yes," answered Dominique, "on that point 
his solidity defies attack." " That is a great deal, 
my son; that is a great deal," replied the old man. 

Let us not renounce God the leather ; let us not 



PREFACE XXI 

deny the possibility of a final day of justice. We 
have never been in one of those tragic situations 
where God is, in some sort, the necessary con- 
fidant and consoler. What would you have a pure 
woman, accused unjustly, do, if not raise her eyes 
to heaven ? or the victim of an irreparable judicial 
error, a man who dies in the fulfillment of an act of 
self-devotion — a noble and peaceful man massacred 
by barbarous soldiers ? Where shall we seek the 
true witness if not on high, in unknown space? 
Even in our peaceful lives, where great trials are 
rare, how often we feel the need of appealing to 
the absolute verity of things, of saying to it, " Speak, 
speak." The moment of death must be one of 
those moments. I think that very few men have 
died without an appeal to God, without prayer. 
The moments of this sort are, perhaps, those in 
which we are in the right. But the strange thing 
about it is that we never obtain the slightest sign 
to show that our protests have touched anything. 
When Nimrod launched his arrows against heaven, 
they came back to him stained with blood. We 
obtain no response. O God ! whom we adore in 
spite of ourselves, to whom we pray twenty times 
a day without knowing it. Thou art in verity a 
hidden God. 

I should be glad to have this small volume give 
the reader a little of the pleasure which I have 
taken in composing it. It completes my " Souve- 
nirs," and they are an essential part of my work. 



XXll PREFACE. 

Whether they augment or diminish my philosophi- 
cal authority, they explain me — they show the 
origin of my verdicts, true or false. My mother, 
with whom I was so poor, by whose side I have 
toiled for hours, pausing only to say to her : 
"Mamma, are you satisfied with me ?" the little 
friends of my childhood, who enchanted me with 
their discreet, pretty ways ; my sister Henriette, 
so lofty, so pure, who, at twenty years of age, led 
me into the path of reason, and lent me her hand 
to traverse a difficult passage, have embalmed the 
beginning in an aroma which will last until death. 
I was brought up by women and by priests ; therein 
lies the whole explanation of my good qualities and 
my defects. In Brittany, the women are superior 
to the men, scold the men, despise them. The 
priest, also, formerly enjoyed a great superiority 
over laymen ; the women loved their parish priest 
much better than they did their husbands. The 
sort of embarrassment which I feel in the company 
of those who are not consecrated to moral and in- 
tellectual things, arises from the scorn which my 
masters taught me to entertain for laymen. There 
is a priest's and a woman's disdain in my awkward- 
ness. In my manner of feeling I am three-quar- 
ters a woman. 

One loves thoroughly, all one's life, only the 
heads of little girls which one has seen at the age 
of sixteen. That is what incessantly carries me 
back to those old images, now almost effaced. If 



PREFACE. Xxill 

I am wrong in this, it is the indulgence which the 
public showed to my " Souvenirs " which has in- 
duced me to do evil. I must say that my phi- 
losophy counts for something in this matter. On 
many points, it seems to me that people of the 
world have the right of things against the scholas- 
tics. They see better the living whole. Not a 
single philosopher has ever turned his attention to 
love. Now, I persist in thinking that love is a 
strange mystery, and the best proof that many 
things which go on in us proceed from beings 
which are in us but are not us. On this point I 
am full of discourse. I always wish to begin over 
again all that I have said. 

How, you will say, does it come that you talk so 
continually of that of which you know so little ? Oh! 
here I enter my protest. In these matters, to be too 
well posted is to be case-hardened. Arnauld was 
right in his book on " Frequent Communion." The 
Jansenists thought, very justly, that too frequent 
use of the communion destroys the taste for it, de- 
creases its savor. The same thing may be said of 
love. Those who speak the best of it are those 
who have misused it the least, and have considered 
it as a religious act. Yes, a religious act, a sacred 
moment in which man tastes the immense joy of 
begetting life, rises above his habitual mediocrity, 
sees his faculties of enjoyment and sympathy ex- 
alted to their highest limit. Dear and touching 
aberration ! love is as eternal as religion. Love is 



XXIV PREFA CE. 

the best proof of God ; it is the umbilical cord be- 
tween us and nature — our true communion with 
the infinite. 

I often reproach myself, at my age, when my mind 
should be occupied with nothing but eternal truths, 
for devoting a part of my days, which are numbered, 
to recalling thoughts which many people would 
characterize as frivolous My excuse is that I 
have given myself up to this work only after hav- 
ing completed the task of my old age, the " His- 
tory of the People of Israel." Many and able 
readers have been so good as to charge me to for- 
bid myself all episodical labor until I shall have 
completed this work, which is the principal work 
of my life. I have followed their advice. The 
" History of the People of Israel, down to the Ap- 
pearance of Christianity," is finished. I shall still 
require a long time to correct the proofs ■ but the 
foundation of the book is settled. If I were to die 
to-morrow, the book could appear, with the assist- 
ance of a good corrector. The arch of the bridge, 
which still remained for me to construct between 
Judaism and Christianity, is established, I have 
succeeded, so far as is possible, in showing the 
special soil whence Jesus sprung. Thus my prin- 
cipal duty is accomplished. At the Academy of 
Inscriptions and Belles-lettres, the work on the 
rabbis is also nearing its end, and the Corpus i?i- 
scriptionum semiticarum is in excellent hands. All 
this causes me s^reat inward satisfaction, and this 



PREFACE. XXV 

is what makes me believe that, after having paid 
nearly all my debts, I may well amuse myself a little, 
and, without scruple, surrender myself to the joy of 
gathering together these leaves which are often 
slight. My time has been so good to me, it has 
pardoned me so many faults, that I hope it will 
exercise its customary indulgence toward me on 
this occasion also. 



RECOLLECTIONS 



AND 



LETTERS OF ERNEST RENAN. 



EMMA KOSILIS. 

ROSMAPAMON IN LOUANNEC. 

Among the traits of idealism in the Breton char- 
acter there is one which I have reproached myself 
for not having sufficiently explained in my " Sou- 
venirs d'Enfance " — it is the capacity to live and 
die of a single idea, of love unuttered, unvaried, per- 
sistent even unto death. 

This trait has been recalled to me by those 
Breton servants who, having been brought to Paris 
in honest families, can remain for years without go- 
ing out, who traverse Paris without looking at it, 
with unseeing eyes ; who ask but one thing, that they 
may live alone, apart, seen of no one. Nearly 
always a secret thought fills their being. Mystic 
reverie is sometimes mingled with it ; but it is 
rarely the principal cause of this obstinate need for 
silence. 



2 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Most frequently, its foundation is a love of their 
childhood, repressed, chimerical, backed by an ex- 
cessively strong moral instinct. Unconfessed ex- 
ternally, this sentiment reigns within them in an 
absolute silence. Nothing exists for such a state 
of soul, nothing pleases, save the precious thought. 
They caress it for hours and hours. It may suffice 
for years, and it renders them indifferent to every- 
thing else. 

Ancient physiology designated this sort of 
temperament as melancholy, and attributed to 
it all the extraordinary things which occur in 
this world. There are, in fact, very few strong 
lives at whose base we- do not find the seer e turn 
7?ieum mihi — the personal secrecy of the great 
dwellers in solitude, and of great men. The 
love of solitude ordinarily arises from an inward 
thought which devours all about it. One day I 
quoted to my sister the saying of Thomas a Kem- 
pis : in angello cum libello.^ The remark struck 
her as so beautiful that she took to repeating it to 
me incessantly as her motto. Life restricted to 
one's self and God is the condition requisite to act 
upon men and to conquer them. 

The great patriotic, scientific, and charitable 
applications of life, come from prolonged inter- 
course with one's self. Mankind will never know 
anything of these extraordinary examples of moral 
force in which the Eternal rejoices, that jealous wit- 
hin a nook with a book. 



ERNEST RENAN. 3 

ness of souls, who reserves for himself the most 
beautiful spectacles. The delectatio morosa — the 
morose pleasure of the Middle Ages — is, in one 
sense, the supreme formula of the universe. 

The slowness of body in the Breton race, that 
possibility, even among the children, of remaining 
motionless for hours, springs, in great part, from 
that necessity for long periods of voluptuousness, 
of idle contemplation, if I may venture to charac- 
terize it thus, which combines ill with external 
activity, and seems to exact complete repose of the 
senses. Tedium does not exist for such natures ; 
what others call ennui is for them profound delight, 
a soliloquy in the infinite. This race has few de- 
sires, few needs ; in love it knows how to wait. 
My sister related to me, on this subject, an anec- 
dote which she admired greatly ; it was the history 
of the mother of one of her friends. She took 
pleasure in it, because it was a case of heroic love, 
which corresponded singularly well with her own 
character. I had forgotten this history ; some re- 
cent circumstances have recalled it to my memory. 
My sister has frequently told me the name of the 
respectable person to whom she had dedicated so 
great a worship. I shall call her Emma Ko- 
silis.* 

She was not of perfect beauty ; but her face had 
an indescribable charm, my sister affirmed. Her 
eyes were exquisitely languorous, her eyelids, which 
* Kosilis means " old church." 



4 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

expressed the most imperceptible quivers of timid 
modesty, tiad tiie air of possessing a soul. Her 
skin was so fine that the slightest acceleration of 
life was betrayed in it by fugitive blushes, the sign 
of a secret which she did not reveal. In a word, 
there was something candid and pure about that 
little Breton, Mademoiselle de Queroualle, which 
made a profound impression on the heart of Charles 
II. 

It was her virginal complexion which, beneath 
the coif of the little participants in a Pardon in 
Brittany, seemed to evoke a flood of innocence, 
which rendered you better for hours. Better or 
worse ? Brittany is the land where the difference 
between men and women is the greatest, and, as 
barbarism is never far distant in those primitive 
countries, it sometimes happens that this feminine 
mother-of-pearl gives men strange nervous attacks. 
Young girls have been found assassinated without 
having been violated. In former days, similar 
cases of assassinations without motive were com- 
mitted on young priests ; but it is a long time 
since these acts of madness have been seen. 

To this order of ideas must be referred a pecu- 
liar trait in the manners of Brittany. I mean the 
total absence of jewels and even of flowers in the 
attire of the women. The clergy are opposed to 
them, and certainly, so far as jewels are concerned, 
they are quite right. 

In the nudity of ancient times, the jewel had a 



ERNEST RENAN. 5 

reason for its existence, and Greece, profiting by 
certain errors of tiie Orient, dared to attack this 
problem, the most delicate of all, of ornamenting 
by applications upon the living flesh, that master- 
piece of nature, the body of a really beautiful 
woman. But in our cold climates, and with our 
ideas of Christian modesty, the jewel has no longer 
any reason for its existence. - For my own part, I 
always feel a sort of antipathy toward these 
attached ornaments. And what, good God ! have 
these pendents of savages, these tinsel rags of the 
Bedouins, to do with the only thing that is of any 
import — with gentleness and innocence of the 
glance ? Are virtue and candor expressed by 
jewels ? Has any jewel ever been invented for the 
eyes ? There is the odious henna, no doubt ; 
but has any woman who respects herself ever em- 
ployed it ? Frightful idea — to paint in black the 
golden balustrades of the celestial Jerusalem, to 
soil the borders of the sacred fountain, at the 
bottom of which we behold God and his paradise. 
Shall I say it ? Color itself, put at the service 
of beauty, disturbs and troubles me. Black and 
white suffice ; better than all adornments they 
leave room for dreams of the veiled and amorous 
flesh. Love implies the rule of love ; it assumes 
candor and modesty in the woman. Herein is 
contained a certain lie, which nature has willed 
and which certainly serves her ends. 

One of the legends which popular Imagination 



6 RECOLLECTION'S AND LETTERS OF 

has grouped around Anne of Brittany expresses 
well that shade of the feminine charm which has 
fallen to the lot of our good little race. And what 
is related of the country of Wales does not dis- 
credit the unity of the two populations ; the char- 
acter of Imogefi in " Cymbeline " is essentially a 
Breton character. I will go further. The charm 
of the Englishwoman, at once so chaste and so 
voluptuous, is in my opinion a Celtic, not an Anglo- 
Saxon attribute. But, in order to explain this 
point, I must set forth my ideas as to the eth- 
nography of England, and this is not the place 
to do so. 

It is related, then, that, in one of the interviews 
which the last and very popular sovereign of Brit- 
tany had with Saint Anne, who could refuse her 
nothing, the Duchess asked from her sainted 
patroness a special gift for the ladies of her 
province. The saint granted them chastity, and, 
since that day, there has existed no example of a 
Breton dame who has been unfaithful to her 
duties. 

This was, assuredly, a great point gained ; never- 
theless, the Duchess was not content with it, and 
asked the saint to add to it beauty. Saint Anne 
was tolerably embarrassed, and ended by confess- 
ing that beauty did not lie in her domain. The 
Virgin Mary has reserved that for herself. The 
Queen of Heaven alone disposes of this gift, 
unique, rare, excellent above all others. Neverthe- 



ERNEST RENAN, 7 

less, in default of beauty, Saint Anne, after re- 
flection, granted this to her god-daughter : that 
these same dames on whom she could bestow only 
the gift of chastity, should accomplish with this 
virtue that which others accomplish with their 
beauty. 

The effects of beauty obtained by the skillfully 
managed charm of virtue — this is the gift of Saint 
Anne. According to a hymn of the Middle Ages, 
attributed to the Abbess Herrade, such is also the 
taste of Christ. He loves only graceful and 
modest young girls : 

Pulchras vult virginculas ; 
Turpes pellit feminas.* 

Tiirpes here signifies those who are ugly and 
vulgar in their manners. How has Christianity, 
always so moral, been thus able to condemn 
ugliness which, judging from all appearances, is 
not always voluntary? For a profound reason ; it 
is that a woman who is truly good is never ugly. 
There is always egotism in ugliness. The worthy 
person, to whom the gift of the Virgin Mary has 
not been accorded, can always give herself an 
equivalent of beauty by her good-humor, her devo- 
tion, her kind heart. Charm has no need to justify 
itself ; its triumph is the proof of its legitimacy. 
I had a cousin, who afterward became the best of 

* He desires only fair young maidens ; he banishes wicked 
wonien. 



8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

men, but who in his childhood was a demon, a real 
Berserker. My sister alone, a very gentle little 
girl, fifteen years of age, could make him obey. 
He broke his arm in an attempt to dislodge for her 
a bird's nest in the roof of a shed ; my sister was 
obliged to remain for a month by his bedside, in 
order to make him lie quiet in his apparatus. 

It is thus, I repeat, that, with a sober little air, 
which presented a contrast to her youth, and a 
slight expression of gentle sadness, little Querou- 
alle, without being a perfect beauty, bewitched 
King Charles 11. , who would look at no one but 
her in all his brilliant court ; which the Protestants 
explained by a diabolical science of feminine per- 
versity. 

Good Heavens ! The Protestants were not 
altogether in the wrong in this case, and, if we 
maintain that chastity is, at bottom, the acme of 
sensuality, modesty the height of coquetry, I shall 
not deny it. There are women who are dangerous 
through their innocence ; it is extremely difficult to 
distinguish the action of the devil, in such a matter, 
from that of the good God. 

The white God and the black God of the Slavs 
are not so opposed as these good people imagine. 
Manichaeism is, I think, the only error which I do 
not profess ; the world is completely one ; every- 
thing comes from a single God ; all its disso- 
nances are merged, at a certain height, into a 
supreme harmony, which is love. 



ERNEST REN AN. 9 

Little Emma Kosilis knew nothing of all this ; 
she went to church very discreetly, with her prayer- 
book ; and the fact is, that toward the age of six- 
teen or eighteen, without her being any more aware 
of it than she was of her blooming youth, there 
was no room in her little soul for anyone except a 
young man, twenty or two-and-twenty years of 
age, whom she often saw, and whom I shall call 
Emilien. 

This affair had no beginning. It was a taking 
possession, which was absolutely unperceived. In 
these countries of honest morals, the relations 
between the young people of the two sexes are far 
freer and more prolonged than in suspicious Paris, 
which is always inclined to believe evil. My moral 
education was conducted thus, by several very 
pure and very pretty female friends of my child- 
hood ; to the present day, with good reason, all 
sweet and kindly things appear to me under the 
form of a wise little girl of twelve or fourteen, who 
makes me a discreet sign. I experienced one of 
my most vivid emotions when, farty years later, 
one of these friends of my childhood addressed me 
as : " My dear Ernest." 

Emma had been in the habit of seeing Emilien 
ever since she had had consciousness of herself ; 
she dreamed rather than thought, and so it came 
to pass that one day, without her having the 
faintest suspicion in the world of it, Emilien came 
to occupy the entire cavity of her little heart. 



lO RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

In order that nothing here below may boast of 
its own merits, the election of love is, like the 
Divine election, purely gratuitous. It is ignorant 
of its own motives. The young man whom Emma 
loved was good-natured and rather weak. But 
just this simplicity, this absence of all pretension, 
pleased the young girl. She would not have 
noticed a superior man, and moreover, the little 
circle in which she lived would not have furnished 
her with the opportunity of encountering many 
such on her path. There was no room in her for 
anything but that strange, unthinking instinct, 
which gives no reasons, despises our convei^tions, 
and asks absolution of God alone. 

I was so vigorously stoned, a year or two ago, 
for having spoken of love, in this good land of 
France — of love as something sacred, religious, 
mystical, that I shall force myself to be brief on 
this occasion. 

Our country, which is indulgent toward black- 
guardism, makes difficulties about allowing one to 
speak, in a serious tone, of the deepest secret of 
nature, of that distant voice of a world which de- 
sires to be. People do not see that, by leaving 
love in the state of nonsense, of turpitude, of 
coarse jest, they accuse the Eternal of folly. 
What ! The work above all others, the continuance 
of life, is attached to an act that is ridiculous or 
coarse 

For my part^ that which seems to demonstrate to 



ERNEST REN AN. il 

me the divine nature of love, is its spontaneity. It 
is born like a flower of the fields ; it acts like a 
loadstone ; the Newtonian attraction is not more 
subtle than it. Science demonstrates that two 
molecules, alone in the world, at whatever distance 
we may assume them to be, would put themselves 
in motion to meet each other. 

Emma's love was of this sort, innocent because 
it was unconscious. She had a very delicate, 
very just sense of good and beautiful things. Now 
a woman does not attach herself to pure abstrac- 
tions ; she loves good when good is, for her, some- 
one who exists and lives. Covered by the deceptive 
mantle of an infantile security, Emma's love soon 
became complete absorption. For whole days she 
remained motionless, abandoned to a languorous 
indolence, which she enjoyed in perfect quietude, 
as one enjoys a warm breeze, without inquiring 
whence it comes, or a ripe fruit without fearing 
that the Creator may have concealed a poison in it. 

Naturally, she said nothing of her feelings either 
to the man whom she loved or to her family, or to 
her companions. Therein lies her fault, if a fault 
be insisted upon ; we shall see how she was des- 
tined to expiate it. The society in which she lived 
was perfectly honest. Her discretion was so abso- 
lute that no one knew anything of the subject 
which absorbed her. Thus she took delight in her 
secret for a long time, and certainly, her enjoyment 
would have been lessened by an avowal. 



12 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Her timid bearing rendered easy for her, with- 
out the slightest hypocrisy, that air of indifference 
and premeditated abstraction which is inculcated 
in young girls. What she felt was so vague, her 
imagination was so pure, the conversations which 
she was in the habit of hearing had always been so 
proper, that the idea never occurred to her that 
there was anything culpable in what she experi- 
enced. Her heart was upright before herself. Any 
hesitation as to the nature of that which rendered 
her so happy, and of which she did not know the 
name, would have been in her eyes as sinful as a 
blasphemy against God, against the Church, and 
against its sacraments. 

The extreme imprudence of such conduct, excus- 
able only in a child, was soon revealed. While 
little Emma lived only in her love, Emilien thought 
of her not at all. He, like everyone else, con- 
sidered her touching ; but he would never have 
dared to tell her so. He was a mediocre and pas- 
sive being ; he allowed his mother to arrange a 
marriage for him ; %nd after all was he so much to 
blame ? Emma was so modest that she was not to 
be distinguished from her friends ; one would 
have said that she sought only to hide herself. 

The blow was as sudden as a clap of thunder : 
one day while she was conversing with her com- 
panions, in a little gathering, in the depths of a 
garden, they discussed various things. The news, 
fresh that day, was the marriage of Emilien with 



ERNEST REN AM. 13 ' 

Anna M . It was spoken of as certain. Emma 

heard all. Such was her command over herself 
that no one even suspected that a dagger had 
pierced her heart. She said nothing, rose shortly, 
and withdrew, without allowing the slightest sign 
of the terrible wound which she had just received 
to be perceived. 

Another piece of news circulated a few days 
later in the company of the same young girls, as- 
sembled in the same garden. Emma had entered 
as lay-sister into the community of the Ursuline 

Dames, in the little town of . As Emma was 

very pious, this surprised no one. Her secret had 
belonged so exclusively to herself alone that no 
one connected the two events. The idea never oc- 
curred to anyone, that Emilien's marriage was the 
cause of Emma's entrance into religion. Religious 
vocations were common among the middle classes 
of these little towns. Emma's entrance into the 
community of the Ursuline Dames was regarded 
as perfectly simple, and did not provoke the faintest 
accusation of ulterior motive. 

The convent of the Ursuline Dames, moreover, 
admitted of different degrees of religious vocation. 
By the side of the sisters who were bound to the 
order by perpetual vows, there were pious persons 
who wore a costume which recalled that of the or- 
der, minus the sacramental veil, and who observed 
the same practices as the nuns, without assuming 
any obligations. The majority of these pronounced 



14 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

their vows at the end of a few years ; but there 
was more than one instance of lay-sisters who had 
returned to the world after they had passed years 
in the establishment. 

It was to this class of nuns that poor Emma 
affiliated herself. Everything was commonplace in 
her admission, in her noviciate, in her conduct at 
the convent. Tedium is a thing unknown to these 
races ; they dream too much to feel bored. She 
was a nun of the utmost regularity, pious like the 
rest, never at fault, esteemed by her superiors. 
Her face, pale as the white linen which surrounded 
it, had the ordinary beatific expression common to 
nuns. Assiduous in prayer and in the exercises of 
piety, she soon broke herself into the religious hab- 
its of the cloister. After the lapse of a few days, 
the slow and monotonous rocking effect of a relig- 
ious life had lulled her to sleep, and her ordinary 
state became a sort of slumber filled with sweet- 
ness. 

Had she succeeded in chasing from her heart 
the image which had invaded it completely ? By 
no means ; she had not even tried to do this. 
The suspicion that this thought was sinful never 
occurred to her for a moment. It was, as in the Song 
of Solomon, a bouquet of myrrh in her bosom. 
She would have doubted God sooner than the up- 
rightness of the sentiment which filled her being. 
In her, love was in the state of a dream, full of 
sweetness, indefinitely prolonged, of a sweet music 



which had but one note. There was neither height 
nor depth in this state of profound peace. She did 
not distinguish her love from her piety, or her 
piety from her love. Her austerities, especially, 
were permeated by it. She found in it an extreme 
charm. Feeling, by instinct, that a woman must 
either enjoy or suffer, she found a sort of voluptu- 
ousness in mortifying her flesh. She experienced 
a deep joy in thinking that she suffered all this for 
the man whom she loved, and in telling herself that 
she should never behold any other man than he. Her 
state of vague love drew from the long psalmodies 
of the convent a sort of powerful stimulant and 
augmentation. 

There was joined to this a sentiment which I 
would like to call the pride of reclusion, which 
is the support of a nun and the cause of her 
haughtiness. Behind the dreams in which the clois- 
tered woman takes pleasure, there lies the idea that 
her body is a treasure so precious that bolts and 
gratings and lofty walls are necessary to place it in 
security. The severity of the guard adds to the 
value of the object guarded ; a thing which is 
watched over to this extent must be inestimable. 
The woman has the sentiment that she pleases by 
her slightest act ; this nearly terrifies her. It is 
not rare to see extremely beautiful women feel an 
aversion for going into society. The woman vowed 
to celibacy also desires, almost always, to be se- 
questered and veiled. She experiences a sort of 



t6 recollections and letters of 

pleasure in proclaiming thus loudly that she is 
keeping to herself the happiness which she might 
bestow. Signifying her disdain for men, and re- 
serving herself for the caresses of an invisible and 
jealous lover, she wishes to be sure that she will be 
seen only by herself and God. 

With these intimate delights there is mingled, in 
discreet fashion, a confession of weakness which 
touches all men. It pleases us that a woman should 
distrust her frailty, that she should take precautions 
against herself, that she should subject herself to 
surveillance, and thus implicitly confess that, per- 
haps, if she were not watched, she might sin. The 
bold woman, who is sure of herself, of certain mod- 
ern countries, is antipathetic to us. We love to feel 
in a woman the embarrassment of her sex, that she 
is obliged to make an effort to be virtuous, that 
she is timid, fearful, the vigilant guardian of her 
treasure. 

With simple-minded girls, like Emma's compan- 
ions, all this was bathed in a mystical pathos of a 
sufficiently inoffensive nature. With her the case 
was more complicated. Such was her complete 
innocence, and the purity of her imagination, that 
no scruple as to her languors ever occurred to her. 
She was so certain of being right that she never 
felt bound to accuse herself of it in confession. 
Her peace was profound. The efforts usually 
made by cloistered women to suppress the thoughts 
which should not come to them, were unknown to 



ERNEST REN AN. 17 

her. Her reclusion was absolute, no man ever 
came to ask for her in the parlor. The ladies of 
her family found her so detached from everything 
that they gradually ceased to visit her. 

This lasted for five years, without a trouble, 
without a storm. Did the possibility of finding 
Emilien again present itself, at times, to her 
mind ? Did it sometimes occur to her that the 
woman whom Emilien had married had very fee- 
ble health ? Since nothing which happened in 
the little town was unknown in the convent, she 
was aware that Anna had two little daugh- 
ters. Did her good heart, masking a little touch 
of egotism, say to her : You will be their mother 
some day ? Perhaps such thoughts did seek to 
rise, now and then ; but they never acquired a 
bodily existence in her mind. She was happy and 
did not desire that her present state should come to 
an end. She would have remained thus until her 
death, without a regret, without bitterness ; never- 
theless, a profound instinct kept her from pro- 
nouncing her vows. Her superiors mentioned the 
subject to her several times ; she took refuge in 
arguments of humility. She was so modest, in 
fact, that this was considered quite natural on her 
part. 

Now, this possibility which she had never clearly 
perceived, but which, without her being aware of 
the fact herself, had been the secret spring of her 
unconscious life, suddenly became a reality. Anna 



15 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

M had a sister in the house of the Ursulines. 

One day, according to usage, prayers were asked 
for the near relative of one of the ladies of the 
community, who lay in the death-agony. Every- 
thing is very soon known in convents. The name 
of the dying person was mentioned in Emma's 
presence that evening. The two little girls, who 
had no longer a mother, were confided to their 
aunt the nun ; Emma could caress them. On the 
following day, the tolling of the knell from the 
principal church announced the death of poor 
Anna. Then came the funeral ; Emma followed all 
the phases of the mass by the ringing of the bell, 
the Sanctus, the elevation of the host. A service 
took place at the same hour in the convent. 
Emma prayed like the others, with so much ap- 
parent calm that the angels could not have per- 
ceived that she was praying for a rival. 

Her trouble had begun, however, and when the 
cathedral chimes announced that the coffin had 
been lowered into the grave, she found herself in a 
state with which she was unacquainted. She did 
not recover herself ; she could hardly pray ; she 
tried to put on her hair shirt, and found it unsup- 
portable ; the austerities which were familiar to 
her disgusted her. She deprived herself of the 
communion for a week, her peace was at an end, 
her piety deeply shaken. At certain hours, she 
believed herself to be an egoist, almost malicious. 
There was no recourse to God ; she asked herself 



ERI^EST REMAIN. 19 

if she was in a state of grace : the Church no 
longer possessed any consolations for her ; the 
long, tranquil meditations which had constituted 
her delight, were interrupted by perpetual distrac- 
tions, which she could not banish. 

This was the only dangerous moment in her life. 
There was one month when she came near going 
to destruction. Assuredly, had not the issue been 
that which I am about to relate, she would have 
rebelled. She might, perhaps, have remained in 
the convent ; but she would have been a bad nun, 
that is to say, the very worst, and the most un- 
happy thing in this world. Her chains, which had 
been so sweet to her when enjoyment had been 
impossible, and while her hope had been lost, had 
become intolerable to her. The beloved image, 
which had slumbered at the bottom of her heart 
for years, now rendered her distracted, agitated 
her mortally. 

This time, she thought herself obliged to tell 
everything to her confessor, who was the chaplain 
of the convent. He was a man of narrow mind, 
but very sensible. At first, he wished to wait : 
then he saw the gravity of the evil. After all, 
Emma had taken no vow, she had not worn the 
costume of the order, the fillet had not pressed her 
brow. The chaplain was kind of heart. The 
secret of the confessional prevented his consulting 
his bishop. He formed his opinion by his own 
reason. Convinced that the salvation of his 



20 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

spiritual daughter was at stake, a thoroughly 
paternal thought occurred to him. He had Anna's 
daughters confided to Emma's personal care. He 
hoped, in this manner, to furnish employment to 
the uneasiness which had begun to take possession 
of her and to pour out upon these orphans the 
overfullness of her heart. In case the union of 
Emma and Emilien should become necessary, he 
intended to arrange matters so that it might be 
said that everything had been done at the instance 
of Emilien, *' desirous of procuring a second mother 
for his children." He hoped that, in this way, an 
exposure, a scandal, they termed it, might be 
avoided. 

The father came to see his little girls, and Emma 
led them to the parlor. The blow was terrible ; 
she burst into tears. Emilien had changed very 
little, he was such as she had continued to behold 
him in her dreams during the last five years. As 
for her, her body was completely emaciated. The 
torrent of tears which inundated her, in spite of 
herself, weakened h^r ; in an instinctive movement 
of her eyes, thus bathed in tears, Emilien read her 
love. 

This man, of an ordinary mind, but really good, 
was then able to understand it all. A flash of 
lightning traversed his mind, he combined matters 
instantaneously. As he had a very tender heart, 
he was deeply touched. The sight of his little 
girls, whom he loved greatly, in the arms of this 



ERNEST REN AM. 21 

excellent woman, moved him to the very depths of 
his being. A respectful love took possession of 
him. The pious memory of Anna which he pre- 
served was 'merged into this new sentiment ; he 
had never read a romance, he was a stranger to 
all literature, the unprecedented favor which 
Heaven had sent to him did not inspire him for a 
moment with fatuity. 

Some months later Emma and Emilien were 
united in marriage. That which no one had ever 
seen, everyone beheld. It was the entire country 
which married them. Emma was much beloved 
for her goodness. Public opinion, ordinarily un- 
favorable to nuns who leave their convent, was 
very indulgent to her. By means of little artifices 
of coiffure, which were not lacking in grace, they 
concealed her hair, which had fallen under the 
scissors of the convent ; her bosom, compressed 
by austerities, dilated ; she resumed her four-and- 
twenty years. People were enchanted to see her 
once more ; they had thought her buried forever. 

My sister considered that the joy experienced 
by this heroine of faithful love was the greatest 
that ever the heart of woman felt. Her passion, 
silent for the space of five years, and doubled by 
suffering, had become a part of her being. The 
rest of her life, there was never any the least 
diminution in her love, that is to say, in her happi- 
ness. The state in which she had been during the 
five years that she had passed in the convent, and 



22 'RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

which was so violently disturbed by the knell an- 
nouncing the death of her rival, lasted the whole 
time, without a single cloud. 

Her husband, sustained by so marvelous a 
proof of fidelity, was constantly under the impres- 
sion of a tender and passionate sentiment. The 
law of their union was that which was on the wed- 
ding-ring of Saint Louis : 

" Outside this ring can there be love ? " 

Emilien,in spite of his mediocrity, was conscious 
of the incomparable treasure which Heaven had 
bestowed upon him. His love became a sort of 
religious worship. The trial had been unique, 
superhuman. This iron resolution : *' No one 
shall see me except he," proved by the most incon- 
trovertible facts, though far surpassing the capac- 
ity of his own nature, astonished him, conquered 
him, inspired him with a sort of fear, like some- 
thing mysterious. 

With her, that which dominated all else was the 
sentiment of an enormous triumph. " I have con- 
quered," was the thought which ruled her life. 
The memory of the Ursuline convent always re- 
mained dear to her. She returned thither every 
year, to spend a few days. Her piety was not 
founded on reasoning, and was, therefore, not very 
aggressive. She wished to preserve her con- 
ventual costume in a wardrobe. In her bedroom, 
her nun's scourge was suspended on a nail ; she 
often reminded her busbanci gf what she had suf^ 



ERNEST RENAN. 23 

fered for him, and how, for five years, she had 
combated her flesh to preserve her love ; with his 
permission, she wore her haircloth garment on cer- 
tain days. Thus she enjoyed, without a moment's 
intermittance, the most perfect felicity that can be 
imagined. She had risked much. All the chances 
had been that the cloister would wear her out, that 
Anna would survive her. That had not stopped 
her. The voluptuousness, which had been re- 
pressed for five years, flowed freely. For twenty- 
five years she floated on a Pacific Ocean of 
happiness and love. 

They had eight children, from whom they never 
separated the two daughters of poor Anna. They 
reared them well ; their sons were very honest 
fellows. As neither of them had any intellectual 
cleverness, not the slightest literary subtlety, not 
the slightest mental reservation ever attacked their 
sincerity. People never read anything, happily, 
in these remote districts ; the literary malady, that 
moral phylloxera of our day, has not penetrated 
thither. Love was all the time like a powerful dose 
of idealistic morphine injected beneath their flesh. 

They lived an extremely retired life, in the 
depths of a somber manor, situated in a valley 
near the sea, in the middle of a dense forest of 
beeches. These manors, if one confine one's self 
to the exterior, have the air of sepulchers ; one 
would pronounce them the strongholds of despair. 
Peware ! inside they ^re full of sw^§t fan^iliarities^ 



24 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

of amiable privacies. The little gardens, cut by 
walls which surround them, are the image of the 
intimate life that is led there. The pond which 
feeds the feudal mill causes a certain shudder, at 
first ; then you acquire a love for the intense ver- 
dure of its osier beds, its surface concealed beneath 
water-lilies. 

It was in one of these nests of verdure, closed in 
on every side, and bathed in shade, that Emma 
and Emilien passed their life. At the end of a 
few years, people forgot their history. Hardly 
anyone knew them. Great love loves solitude ; 
it needs no one. Emma's life in this desert was 
that of paradise, an infinite enjoyment, without 
oscillation or slackening. People talk of the 
storms of love. What childishness ! Love has its 
inequalities : but voluptuousness has no storms. 
Emma's happiness, after her victory, was like 
the high seas, without ebb or flood, whereon she 
floated wrapped in a slumber. Death itself hardly 
existed for her. Life left her because the hour 
had come to finish it. She died at the age of fifty, 
without any malady. These great and durable 
joys vanish without causing any bitterness. To 
St. Augustine is attributed this saying as to the 
happiness of the elect : Quod habent desiderant — 
" They desire that which they have." It is very 
well said ; but we must remember that this acme 
of bliss is conquered only by an excess of heroic 
will, exercised for a very long time. 



ERNEST RENAN, 2$ 

My sister, in narrating to me this story, dis- 
covered in it a perfect example of love, as she 
understood it. She esteemed Emilien the happiest 
of men, he for whose sake an excellent woman had 
condemned herself to a life of austerity, thus giv- 
ing him the absolute guarantee of her exclusive 
love. In the space of five years, she had never be- 
held a single man. She had accepted loyally the 
chances of an eternal seclusion. As in all battles, 
life was at stake here. There is no recompense 
except for those who dare. Happiness is like 
glory ; in order to win it one must play for large 
stakes. 

One day I ventured to remark- to my sister that 
this was a great deal of devotion to bestow on a 
mediocre man. " Oh ! what matters it ? " she 
replied. " He certainly did not merit so much 
happiness ; but who does merit the happiness that 
he has ? These are the false ideas of your Parisian 
literary men, who imagine that great men alone 
are worthy of love. What childishness ! You 
will perceive the absurdity of all that one of these 
days. Ah ! the heroes who have saved their 
country, I can conceive of it for them ; but the 
daubers of canvas, the smudgers of paper, what is 
there in that for the heart ? What are your puerile 
literary celebrities for love ? " She often recurred 
to this point. She was much opposed to the 
foolish admiration of fame, which is one of the 
absurdities of our time, and thought it ridiculous 



26 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

that a woman should set any store by reputation, 
for her husband. She, who was so little given to 
mockery, rallied wittily those women who seek the 
men who pretend to superiority. She would have 
none of those husbands who belong to everybody. 
She thought that the woman who marries a cele- 
brated man is only half a wife, the public entering 
more or less into their union as a third party. It 
is certain that the dilectus mens iiiiJii et ego illi — my 
beloved is mine and I am his — of the Song of Solo- 
mon, would have had no meaning if the shepherd 
of Sulem had been a well-known personage, 
delivered over to be pastured on by the public, and 
interviewed every morning by journalists. 

How I should like to have someone write thus 
a " Morality in Action " of virtuous love, where 
should be recounted, in simple style, heroic in- 
stances, like that of Emma! The "Morality in 
Action " was the book which had the most influ- 
ence over me in my childhood, after "Telemaque," 
however. They say that these sorts of books 
are out of fashion now ; so much the worse for 
fashion. I imagine that the great success of the 
century would be a book which should depict for 
us men such as they ought to be ; we have but too 
many occasions to see them as they are. 

Certainly, a distinction must be made between 
what we propose to imitate and what we propose 
to admire. The examples for imitation should 
always have something mediocre and plebeian 



ERNEST REN AN. 27 

about them, since practice is plebeian. But in 
order to obtain from men their simple duty, they 
must be shown the example of those who exceed 
it. Morals are maintained by heroes. Feminine 
virtue is one of the providential elements in the 
edifice of the world. The woman has charge of 
good. The true does not concern her in the least, 
but the proof of morals lies much more in the eyes 
of the honest young girl than in the reasoning of 
a metaphysician. 

This is what always impels me, in my moments 
of leisure, to meditate upon the most sacred of the 
acts of life ; this is what makes me find so much 
pleasure in those grand examples of noble love, 
where love and duty are opposed one to the other, 
and where they grow reciprocally. The profana- 
tion which is made of love in the superficial litera- 
ture of Paris is the disgrace of our times. That is 
the crime against the Holy Spirit, for which, ac- 
cording to the Gospel, there is no forgiveness. The 
sacred w^afer is dragged through the mud, the 
great educating force of the human race is misun- 
derstood. Love does not possess its full value, 
except under the restrictions of duty. There is no 
part of life which imposes more obligations, nor 
which is subjected to more complicated rules. 

Restricted ideas must correspond to restricted 
duties. The faith of woman is a virtue ; it must be 
respected, like all other feminine virtues. People 
will be mistaken if they think that we desire to 



28 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

lead women to our philosophical opinions. Often, 
on the contrary, we are very glad that they do not 
listen to us. We love their decided intention not 
to hear what will enfeeble their heroic resolution. 
It is sufficient, if we may suppose that, by a little 
dissimulation, they agree with us at bottom. 

Woman often pleases us precisely because she 
resists us ; we are grateful to her for her refusal. 
The woman who resembles us is antipathetic to us. 
What we seek in the other sex is the contrary 
of ourselves. Weakness, false reasoning, narrow 
ideas, ignorance, superstition, shock us in a man, 
and often cause us to smile in a woman. We love 
the sign of the cross executed with a graceful fem- 
inine gesture. It does not displease us to see our 
virile works insulted, misunderstood by women ; 
their indignation enchants us, for we descry the 
delicate sentiment whence their scorn has its origin, 
and that troubles us but little, since, through 
science, we are sure of being in the right. 

I envy my eminent colleague, Mr. Brown- 
Sequard, for what happened to him at one of his 
learned lessons. An anti-vivisectionist lady, placed 
near him, gave him a blow with her umbrella. 
TeliLvi imbclle I — an unwarlike weapon. This excel- 
lent person certainly made a mistake ; vivisection, 
with the humane cares by which it is surrounded, 
representing the decillionth part of that which ani- 
mals suffer, is a very inoffensive thing, but errors of 
the heart please us in women. The wrath which 



ERNEST REN AN. 29 

our legitimate liberties cause them proves that to 
which we cling the most strongly in them ; their 
virtue — an essential condition of their charm and 
of the absolute dissonance which we desire be- 
tween them and us. We love feminine absurdity, 
while still not wishing that it should govern the 
world and make the law too much therein. 

However, God's will be done in everything ! 
The world is good as it is ; I should be desperately 
sorry to have contributed in any way to diminish 
piety in women. Pietas^ in its finest Latin sense, 
implying feebleness and tenderness, is the excellent 
gift that has been conferred upon them. During 
my last journey to Brittany, I was happy to see 
that the young girls were as pretty, as modest, as 
well-brought up as they were fifty years ago. My 
sole desire is that it may continue so. I should be 
consoled if I could know, after my death, that 
women are still as pretty, and that love is still as 
sweet as in the past. 

In order to save the possibility of a future be- 
yond the grave, many lofty minds dream of a series 
of new births, with profound modifications of our 
being. This order of ideas is not that in which I 
take pleasure ; metempsychosis is the idea which 
has always had the fewest attractions for me. 
Nevertheless, if anything in the nature of these 
dreams were conceivable, I should request, as the 
recompense for my head work, to be born again a 
woman, in order that I might study the two fash- 



30 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OE 

ions of living which the Creator has instituted, so 
that I might comprehend the two poetries of the 
thing. I really have reasoned and combined a 
good deal in that manner. I should like, in an- 
other world, to speak to the feminine element, with 
the voice of a woman, to think as a woman, to love 
as a woman, to pray as a woman, to see how 
women reason. From that world, I desire to as- 
sure you, dear sisters, that I have never cherished 
for you a single evil sentiment, that your piety has 
even frequently been one of the causes of my in- 
ward joy. And beholding it so assured, I have 
said to myself that my ideas, in so far as they 
might be dangerous, would speedily find their coun- 
terpoise, and that, consequently, I can freely accord 
them their flight. 



supplement to page ii9 of ''souvenirs 
d'enfance." 

The approach of old age having led me, several 
years ago, to choose a sojourn for the- summer in 
the vicinity of the spot where my childhood was 
passed, I desired to behold once more the cemetery 

of where, according to certain inductions, I 

knew that little Noemi, the friend of my youth, 
must be buried. Alas ! I did not find her name 
there. A gravestone has been, evidently, too costly 
a luxury for her ; she had only a wooden cross. 



ERMEST REMAIN. %l 

Now, a wooden cross speedily falls to pieces : the 
transverse strip which bears the name of the de- 
ceased becomes loosened first, and the dead, whose 
memory is preserved only by this fragile sign, soon 
have no further existence, except in the memory of 
God. 

That memory, being the very reality of things, is 
truly the only one which counts. The memory of 
men is not only brief but it is inexactness itself. 
I have the honor to be a member of the commis- 
sion on the Literary History of France, at the 
Academy of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres. If 
people only knew the expungement of errors which 
we effect at each of our sessions, everyone would 
become incredulous as to what is said and what 
is related. The Last Judgment, supposing that 
the Eternal gives an opportunity for the interro- 
gation of witnesses, will be a tissue of iniquities, A 
certain incident opened my eyes to this incurable 
weakness of human opinions, on one frightful day. 

Having asked some information from a person 
whom I knew to be well posted as to my little com- 
panion, this was the reply which I received : "■ Yes, 
she was very pretty, but she turned out badly. Do 
not look for her here. She followed such and such 
a person ... he seduced her, then abandoned her. 
She came to her end on the pavements of Paris." 
The person whom I interrogated added various 
very precise circumstances, which seemed to leave 
no doubt as to the truth of her assertions. 



32 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The horror of a priest who should behold his 
holy sacrament fall into the mud would be nothing 
compared to the feeling which I experienced at that 
moment. The thought that my little friend, who 
had opened to me the paradise of the ideal, when 
I was twelve years of age, could have been defiled 
to that extent, filled me with indignation. That 
which my mother had related to me concerning 
her pious death still rang in my ears. I made no 
reply to my interlocutor ; but I seated myself 
under an aged beech, at the corner of the cemetery 
facing the sea ; I gathered my memories together ; 
soon the truth appeared to me, sovereign, evident, 
with no admixture of conjecture. By dint of 
placing side by side certain particulars of the con- 
versation which had just taken place, I beheld a 
misunderstanding, plain as the daylight, rise before 
me. 

Noemi had, in fact, a little friend who often 
played with us and who resembled her by her 
beauty — a beauty which came to her from the devil 
in as direct a line as Noemi's came to her from 
God. I shall call her Nera. Although the daugh- 
ter of a very chaste mother, Nera had, even in her 
childhood, the manners of a loose woman. She 
lost her mother early ; my grandmother took 
charge of her ; but, wholly absorbed in her devo- 
tion, she was extremely weak where Nera was con- 
cerned. She did not perceive her bad conduct, 
and, when my sister Henriette went to pass a few 



ERNEST REMAN. %^ 

weeks with her grandmother, of whom she was very 
fond, she felt a constant anguish of heart. Nera 
rendered her unhappy, mocked at her seriousness, 
and gave her to understand that, being less pretty 
than herself, she was fit only to serve her. My 
sister, who was excessively delicate, suffered and 
said nothing. One evening, on her return from 
church, in the depths of a dark corridor which led 
to the apartment occupied by my grandmother, she 
received a kiss which was not intended for her, and 
shrieked loudly. At last poor Nera turned out in 
the saddest possible way. One day, Henriette and 
I received a visit from her, in the Rue Val-de- 
Grace. Although greatly abased, she had an air 
of hatred. Henriette forgot her repugnance, and 
did all that was possible to save her. But her 
kindness only irritated the unhappy girl. Behind 
the benefactress she perceived the little girl whose 
virtue she had teased. To owe everything to her 
laughing-stock of former days seemed to her 
worse than hunger. After a while she changed 
her address, and we completely lost sight of her. 

For indubitable reasons, which left no room for 
hesitation, I finally perceived that a horrible con- 
fusion had been established, and that, in the minds 
of the three or four persons who may still have 
some lights on this past, the memory of Nera has 
been substituted for that of Noemi. A blunder 
has charged a virtuous person with the record of a 
fallen woman. To tell the truth, this is of no great 



34 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF . 

consequence : in a few years the three or four per- 
sons who remember Noemi, and I along with them, 
will have disappeared, and all this will be buried in 
oblivion, that hideous monster which daily devours 
— O Heavens, many another error ! 

But I make a point of protesting, out of pure 
love for the truth. 

I swear before God, in the name of my firmest 
and most precise recollections, in the name of facts 
and reasons which furnish me with absolute cer- 
titude, that an error has been committed, that my 
mother's version is the true one, that my little 
friend died solely because nature committed a mis- 
take, having made her at once beautiful, poor, and 
discreet. As I have said, she died of virtue. Peo- 
ple saw her go to church to say her prayers ; but 
all ended there. Now it lay in her race to be a 
faithful wife and an excellent mother, or to die. 
It was Nera who lent an ear to bad counsels and 
followed the path of folly. I adjure the Eternal to 
be on his guard against this confusion, if it should 
attempt to pass into the great book which, it is said, 
will be produced on the Day of Judgment. I will 
rise, if need be, in the Valley of Jehoshaphat, to pro- 
test against such a monstrosity. I wish that my 
little companion should be in heaven. It is unnec- 
essary to say, of course, that I shall offer no op- 
position if the Eternal, in his infinite indulgence, 
sees fit to pardon poor Nera. 



EUNEST HE/^AJSr. 35 



THE DOUBLE PRAYER. 

One of the finest religious spectacles which can 
be contemplated in our day, is that which the an- 
cient cathedral of Quimper presents at nightfall. 
When the shadows have filled the side aisles of the 
vast edifice, the faithful of both sexes join each 
other in the nave, and chant the evening prayer in 
the Breton tongue, to a simple and touching rhythm. 
The cathedral is lighted only by two or three lamps ; 
on one side of the nave are the men, standing, on 
the other the kneeling women form a motionless 
sea of white coifs. The two halves sing alternately, 
aud the phrase begun by one of the choirs is com- 
pleted by the other. 

That which they sing is very beautiful ; when I 
heard it, it seemed to me that, with a few sm,all 
transpositions, it might be accommodated to all 
states of humanity. Above all, it made me dream 
of a prayer which, by means of slight variations, 
might suit men and women equally. 

Humanity, in effect, by its division into two sexes, 
is a choir, where the two sides respond. To attempt 
to unite the prayers of the men and the women was 
one of the most successful undertakings of budding 
Christianity. The Middle Ages also excelled in 
this sometimes ; witness that English abbey, of 
which my learned brother M. Haureau has spoken.* 

* Histoire " Litteraire de la France," t. xxvii, p. 32. 



36 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The abbey was double, that is to say, composed 
of a convent for men and a convent for women, who 
united in the same church for the canonical hours. 
A wall divided the choir throughout the entire 
length, and was sufficiently high to prevent the 
monks and nuns from seeing each other, but not 
sufficiently so as to prevent their voices from ming- 
ling. Murus corpora non voces disjungit — The wall 
separated their bodies, not their voices. The 
song which rises from humanity to the Eternal, to 
be complete, should be thus double. 

The world will be saved only when men and 
women shall pray together the same prayer, with 
the difference of tones which befits them. 

Distinct on the level of the earth, the prayers 
should mingle at a certain altitude before mount- 
ing together to Heaven. Thus the discordant 
sounds of earth, at a certain height, are merged 
into perfect accord. I am astonished that no 
theologian should have maintained that the prayers 
of men and the prayers of women are of a different 
quality. The two incenses, borne by the angels be- 
fore the throne of the Eternal, would compose, as 
they burned, the perfect incense. 

This is what I believed that I heard in the 
chants of the cathedral of Quimper, all sectarian 
dissent, and all attachment to a particular dogma, 
being set aside : 



ERNEST REN AM. 



37 



CHORUS OF MEN. 

My God, I believe 
firmly in Thy power 
which fills the world, 
draws life from inert 
masses, force from 
fragile tissues, genius 
from a brain which will 
be dust to-morrow. We 
adore Thee above all in 
our breast. We never 
faint, and when our 
breath begins to weaken, 
we feel Thy presence by 
the powerful return of 
strength which rises to 
our hearts. 

The work of genius is 
Thy work. The labor is 
ours. Long live labor 
when we toil for the uni- 
verse and for humanity ! 
It pleases us to be the 
victims of a fine work, 
which Thou wilt still 
further perfect. As- 
suredly, Thou doest 
something, and Thou 
doest it through us. 
We are sure that the la- 
borer for humanity will 
one day receive his re- 
compense. 

Our arms have be- 
come heavy with the heat 
of the day. Why are the 



CHORUS OF WOMEN. 

My God, I believe 
firmly in Thy goodness, 
which causes our heart 
to beat, overflows in our 
milk, fills our breasts, 
nourishes our little ones, 
causes the tranquil lan- 
guor of our eyes, feeds 
our tenderness, sustains 
our piety. We are sure 
that Thy spirit is in us, 
when our breasts swell ; 
the palpitation of our 
bosoms is Thy voice. 



Praised be Thy uni- 
verse ! It is good, lumi- 
nous, and great. Thou 
hast willed that Thy 
justice should be veiled 
like us. Be praised. 
Justice is more difficult 
to realize than goodness, 
we feel it. On this 
point we resign ourselves 
to wait. We give Thee 
centuries to perfect Thy 
work. Count on us. 



Our maternal cares 
have been heavy to-day. 
Grant us strength to .be 



38 



RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



burdens for us, the en- 
enjoyments for others ? 
We have committed no 
sin ; and we dare not 
say that Thy power is 
limited. If there was 
before Thee a god of 
evil, Thou wouldst have 
annihilated him long 
ago. 

Grant us the strength 
to conquer our wrath. 
When we abandon our- 
selves to our frivolous 
thoughts, we are irritated 
at the happiness of the 
wicked, at the prosperity 
of the unjust. In Thy 
light all is explained to 
us. The liberty of be- 
ings demands that Thou 
shouldst abandon them 
to their inequality. Oh, 
how dear is the cost 
of liberty. Blessed be 
Thou, nevertheless, for 
having given it to us. 



Console us poor 
victims ; a God is made 
of our tears. The 
wicked are necessary. 
Our poverty is the proof 



resigned. Thou lovest 
us, yea. Thou lovest us ; 
for Thou hast need of us. 
Thy aim is life. We are 
the instruments in Thy 
hand, for the most 
beautiful of Thy works. 
Will Thou not have pity 
one day upon Thy poor 
toiler in bringing forth 
life? 

Our trials are some- 
times severe. Long are 
our fevers when one of 
Thy little creatures is 
suspended in our bosom, 
by long threads of silk. 
The recompense of our 
virtue is poverty. Our 
repose is the tomb. Our 
milk is for little chil- 
dren decked out like 
idols, who are not our 
own. Our heart swells 
with indignation at 
times ; but Thou calm- 
est us ; Thou art the 
only consoler. Peace, 
happiness, repose, will 
never exist, save at Thy 
feet. 

Yea, an hour passed 
with Thee gives us 
peace. Here Thou 
communicatest to us 
Thy secrets, Thou 



ERNEST RENAN. 



39 



that we have never done 
any evil. The wicked 
man cannot be an hour 
alone with himself. Our 
Father who art in 
heaven, we are with Thee 
every hour, for Thou art 
in our heart above all. 



The triumph of evil 
shall never shake us. 
We will always admit 
duties which reach unto 
death. Oh, great coun- 
try of souls, Thou hast a 
right to all sacrifices. 
Yes, death, if it presents 
itself in Thy name, will 
be as gladly welcomed by 
us as life. When one 
knows Thee, an hour of 
life is a blessing. Every 
creature who is conscious 
of its own existence and 
of Thy existence should 
return thanks and die 
blessing Thee. 

The courage which 
was in the heart of our 
fathers is in our heart. 
It is the coward who 
does not believe in Thee. 
When one has lived, one 
lives always ; an eternal 



solacest us, Thou 
makest us proud of our 
poverty. Surely, the 
wicked man is punished, 
for he cannot converse 
with Thee. Thanks for 
the lot that has been 
assigned to us. Thou 
has willed the world — the 
world is made of our 
tears. 

Yea, O God, we will 
be faithful. Do what 
Thou wilt, we will never 
doubt Thee. We defy 
Thee, beloved God ! It 
shall be a battle between 
us ! Thou shalt not 
conquer. Demand, de- 
mand ever, we will 
always give. Our heart 
is ready. Strike, make 
Thy hand heavier yet ; 
it shall always be gentle 
to us. 



Come, abuse our 
patience, try of what we 
are capable. We will 
endure every test. Thou 
hast need of our devo- 
tion, we know it. Thou 
canst not keep Thy uni- 



40 



RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



mark has been traced in 
the infinite. Whether 
this furrow be long or 
short, what is it in com- 
parison with Thy eter- 
nity ? Thou remem- 
berest us ; hence we are 
immortal. 



The goal attained wilt 
Thou restore life to 
those who have contrib- 
uted to the victory of 
the good and the true ? 
Thou alone knowest : 
we must not know it. 
Is it not enough that we 
should live in Thy mem- 
ory ? Assuredly, we 
would wish to learn the 
issue of the battle which 
we are fighting with 
Thee. Be the conqueror, 
O God ! that is the es- 
sential point. We shall 
triumph in Thee. 



Thy rule has been to 
create reason by ob- 
scure aspirations for ex- 
istence, to create giants 



verse in motion without 
us. Behold Thy poor 
handmaidens on their 
knees. Continue to de- 
mand from us much, as 
much as thou wilt. It 
is so sweet to be a 
victim ! Thanks, O 
Heaven, for our weak- 
ness ! Thanks, for the 
confidence Thou hast in 
our powers of suffering ! 

As Thou givest us 
life, so we love Thee. 
Yes, we should like to 
live, to be beautiful for- 
ever. O Father, par- 
don the blindness of 
Thy poor handmaidens. 
Thy gifts are so excel- 
lent that we would wish 
them to be eternal. 
Foolish creatures that 
we are. Let us reflect 
on what we are asking : 
eyes which preserve 
their charm indefinitely, 
hair which never turns 
white, lips fresh through 
a thousand years. O 
Father, pardon our 
childish egotism ! 

The beauty which 
Thou givest us at cer- 
tain hours, and during a 
few years, is a fragile 



ERNEST REN AM. 



41 



with decillions of mi- 
crobes, to make some- 
thing coherent of gnats. 
Thy means are humble ; 
Thy results attain to the 
infinite. The earth 
weighed, the heavens 
measured, the atom de- 
scribed, what marvels. 
When the plant-louse 
has finished its work, 
dost Thou preserve it 
for eternity ? It would 
be a great honor to Thee 
to show it. It is more 
probable that it goes to 
take its place among the 
myriads of its congeners 
which pave the infinite. 
Let us leave these 
dangerous thoughts. 
We know nothing of 
Thy supreme ways. We 
are making, stitch by 
stitch, a tapestry of 
which we do not see the 
pattern. Let us accept 
the salary of good work- 
men and spend it in 
peace. Thou wiliest 
the joy of Thy workmen, 
good Master ; in labor 
Thou hast hidden pleas- 
ure. 



thing. Truly, we can- 
not regret it. That 
which passes away is 
not, for that reason, friv- 
olous. W"hat difference 
will there be a century 
hence, between those 
who are beautiful to-day, 
and those who have been 
beautiful ? Others will 
then be beautiful, and 
they will pass in their 
turn. Of what has the 
flower to complain? 
Thou alone art always 
the same, and Thy years 
know no decline. 



Subordinated to Thy 
ends, we shall always be 
good, docile, and sub- 
missive. We will love 
men and we will serve 
them. We will banish 
from their minds sad 
thoughts ; at need, we 
will talk nonsense to 
them. Can it be possi- 
ble that Thou desirest 
the sadness of Thy 
creatures? No, no, oh 
mysterious Creator ; if 
Thy design were som- 
ber, why hast Thou con- 
cealed joy in our bosom ? 



42 



RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



We have acquired the 
right to love. Our labor 
has been productive. 
We have bought the 
right to nourish our 
children, and to deck 
our companions with the 
poor ornaments which 
suffice to render them 
amiable. Thanks for 
the gift that Thou hast 
conferred on us, of ren- 
dering them fruitful. 
O God, of what impor- 
tance is it to be rich ? 
Do the rich enjoy more 
than we the delights 
which Thou hast placed 
at the sources of life ? 
[ The Men are Silent dur- 
ing this Strophe. '\ 



[The Mothers Alone ^ 
Our share of pain is 
dear to us. Pain, vo- 
luptuousness — who shall 
say where the one ends 
and the other begins ? 
The sacred moment of 
nature is that in which 
one obeys without know- 
ing what one obeys, when 
one loves without know- 
ing whom. We will ob- 
serve Thy holy laws, O 
God ! Thy command- 
ments shall always be 
the law of our life. 



{The Young Girls. 1 
We desire thy holy 
law. We shall never seek 
to comprehend that 
which Thou hast wished 
to conceal. We love the 
bandage which covers 
our eyes. We shall never 
believe that the rustling 
of wings, which we feel 
at times, does not come 
from heaven. We will 
do as our mothers did. 
Our fathers and our 
brothers shall be proud 
of us. 



ERNEST REN AN. 



43 



Yes, Thy commands, 
O God, those commands 
elaborated in the depths 
of thy sanctuaries, and 
which are transmitted to 
us by the healthy voice 
of humanity, we will re- 
spect and follow. We 
will never play with 
love ; we will break the 
horrible little be-rib- 
boned phials in which 
the elixir of the flowers 
of evil is sold. We will 
never betray the woman 
who, at a certain hour, 
has had no secrets for 
us. We will never aban- 
don the child which owes 
its life to us. We de- 
clare ourselves indebted 
toward it, not for riches, 
but for initial guidance 
toward life and toward 
good. 

Erect before Thy 
majesty, we shall always 
be respectful sons, equal 
in the presence of each 
other, as we are equal 
before Thee. We thank 
Thee for the life that 
has been given us, and 
we do not fear death, 
since we are delivered 
from the frightful 



\^The Women are Silent 
during this Strophe. '\ 



Kneeling before Thy 
goodness, we shall al- 
ways be Thy obedient 
daughters. What Thy 
designs exact, we will ac- 
complish, with a humble 
heart. The creature to 
which Thy breath giveth 
light in our womb shall 
be as dear to us as our- 
selves. We abdicate 



44 



RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



thought that after having 
so tried us in life, Thou 
wilt pass Thy eternity 
in torturing us. The 
future will behold better 
days than ours ; as, in 
our age, we have been 
more favored than our 
fathers were. But each 
one of us is inseparable 
from the state of the uni- 
verse, at the moment 
when he made his ap- 
pearance. Happy is he, 
who, in the final review, 
shall find himself on the 
side of those who have 
fought for the true and 
the good ! 



forever every virile 
thought. Knowing that 
which pleases in us is 
Thyself, our only 
thought shall be to 
please Thee. We will 
cutivate our beauty, 
which exists by Thy 
will ; and, associating it 
indissolubly with the 
idea of virtue, we will 
assure the triumph of 
good by the charm 
which is exhaled from 
us. 



SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE INAUGURATION 
OF THE STATUE OF BRIZEUX AT LORI- 
ENT, SEPTEMBER 9, 1 888. 

Your festival is really charming, gentlemen. 
You have had a happy inspiration. You have de- 
sired that one of your most dainty poets should not 
be left without a memorial in his native town. A 
simple, elegant monument, in the best taste, will re- 
call to you, every day, this tender soul, this excellent 
man, who was born and grew up among you, and 
who, better than anyone else^ has revealed to the 



ERNEST RENAN. 45 

world the dearest thoughts, the most secret re- 
cesses of the conscience of your reice, the deepest 
secrets of your manner of feeHng. His life, which 
was modest and poorly recompensed, certainly had 
a right to this reparation. Brittany was behind- 
hand with Brizeux. Thanks to you, this appear- 
ance of ingratitude is effaced. He who said : 
" And I have not even an assured retreat," now 
has his pedestal of granite, whence he invites us to 
contemplate with him the sea, the sky, the infinite ; 
the mysteries of the soul, which are never to be 
exhausted. 

It has been said that Brizeux discovered 
Brittany. That is saying too much, perhaps. 
But he certainly did discover one charming thing, 
among others — M. Le Braz expressed it' finely 
t^he other day, in his lecture at Lannion — he dis- 
covered Breton love — love, discreet, tender, pro- 
found, faithful, with its faint tinge of mysticism. 
Two children who seek to be for hours together 
without exchanging a word ; a pretty, rosy face, 
very modest, under a white coif, nothing more, 
that suffices ! Adorable simplicity of means ! 
Oh ! how far removed we are with him from 
that twaddle, from those perverse ingredients 
which certain schools think themselves obliged to 
mix with the divine ambrosia of love ! No jewels, 
no adornments ; hardly flowers ; color itself ren- 
dered useless, white and black sufficing to set 
off the freshness of a virginal complexion. 



46 



RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



Shall I say it, in eulogy of this excellent artist ? 
He hardly needs beauty. Candor and innocence 
are enough. 

"■ I have seen Marie," said a friend of Brizeux, 
a friend of his earliest years ; '•' she was not pre- 
cisely pretty ; but there was a singular grace about 
her." Eh ! What more is required ? The effects 
of beauty obtained by charm, that is the triumph 
of Breton sesthetics, that is the art of Brizeux : an 
exquisite art, always healthy, always noble, which 
was never troubled in its limpidity by any literary 
malady, by any of those ugly stains which soil the 
purest works of our day. 

His poetry was simple because it was true. He 
loved life, with that which rendered it supportable, 
the taste for good under all forms. He was not 
of those who boast of having slain sleep. In 
order to sleep, he had no need of those narcotics 
which enervate more than sleeplessness. In order 
to sleep, he needed only the shadow of an oak 
tree on that land " where one can live and die 
alone." He had his doubts, sometimes ; his 
papers, scrutinized after his death by discreet 
friends, bear witness to this ; he condemned the 
sheets \vhich contained them to remain unpub- 
lished. This touching verse is very like him : 



All shall hear my voice, none shall behold my tears. 

Poetry and love, those voices from another 
world, never abandoned him. Others culled the 



ERNEST RE NAN, 4l 

flowers of evil ; he loved only the flowers of good, 
tliat which elevates, that which consoles this poor 
humanity, but too much inclined to calumniate it- 
self. His ideal is a temple open to all, and from 
which shall be excluded only " the coward and the 
wicked man." 

This faith in good preserved him from the great 
modern errors, nihilism and pessimism. These 
are not precisely the maladies of our race. The 
portion of robust faith which is our heritage, even 
reduced to clouds, sustains us. We have ex- 
hausted nothing ; for we never drain the cup to its 
dregs. That is why we are fresh for life when so 
many others are weary of living. We are not 
obliged to convert ourselves in order to pass to 
modern ideas. We transfer to them our religious 
sincerity, our fidelity, and, above all, that of which 
this century stands most in need, our good sense, 
our honesty. 

When one is sure of being in the right, one is 
gentle toward injustice. Times were very, very 
hard for Brizeux. The provincial items were not 
accorded, in his day, so large a freedom of the city 
as at present, in the general literature of France. 
Timid, like all Bretons, Brizeux sought to inaugu- 
rate something which had not yet a place in the 
official sunshine. He was little understood. He 
desired to belong to the Academy, and the Acade- 
my committed the error of not electing him. He 
always remained poor ; but he sang to the very 



4S RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

end. The confidant of his last hours, M. Saint- 
Rene Taillandier, has related how he died with the 
assurance of a great heart, content with his work, 
and proclaiming loudly his aversion for phara- 
saisms, for all hypocrisies. 

You have, indeed, done well, gentlemen, to 
crown with public honors this life which was so dis- 
interested, so lofty, so pure! This beautiful place, 
filled with 'the memory of Brizeux, will be for 
our city a place of meditation, a spot wherein to 
dream — the best thing in the world — an oasis 
in the harsh desert of modern life. The positive 
cares of our times render poetry only the more 
necessary. It is, with religion included as a 
matter of course, the balm which softens and con- 
soles, the voice which says within us : Sursum 
corda I — Lift up your hearts ! Here it will 
have a place that is, in a manner, consecrated. A 
visit to this pretty square will be the goal of pil- 
grimages, whither people will come to seek repose 
in the heat of the day. The statue of Brizeux will 
be for you a sanctuary, a signal of recall to the 
things of the heart and of the spirit. You will 
love this place, and every time that you pass be- 
fore this noble image, you will think of the poet 
who has put your soul into his verses, you will 
thank the excellent sculptor who has given you 
such a perfect image of Brizeux. 




ERNEST RENAN. 49 



LOVE AND RELIGION. 

[Letter to M. Perivier, editor of The Literary Supplement of 
" Figaro."] 

Perros-Guirec, August 4, 1888. 

Dear Sir : You insist on having my opinion 
upon the charming competition which you have 
thrown open to your lady readers on this question : 
" Which book has spoken most delicately and most 
eloquently of love ? " You inform me that a great 
number of your subscribers seem to have agreed to 
reply : " The Bible, the Gospels, the Imitation," 
and you ask me what I think of this combination. 
Scoffers will, perhaps, perceive in it a refinement 
of hypocrisy, as though your correspondents had 
wished to prove thereby that they read no other 
books. This objection would have but little effect 
on me ; for I confess that I love the women whose 
mass-book constitutes their whole literature, pro- 
vided that, in addition, they be good or beautiful ; 
but let us leave epigrams out of the discussion ; I 
will examine the question, since you desire it, with 
all the impartiality of a conscientious juror. 

I think that the clever readers who have replied 
thus to your question have replied well. In their 
determination to cite only religious books, there 
lies a great truth — it is the fundamental identity of 
religion and love. Yes, the Bible and the Gospels, 
wonderful books in so many respects, are particularly 



so RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

remarkable from the manner in which the relations 
of the sexes are handled in them. The life of the 
great evangelical charmer is, at "every step, a box 
on the ear administered to pharisees, either of the 
libertine camp or the rigorist camp. The role of 
Mary of Magdala, in the formation of the belief in 
the resurrection, is the acme and really the miracle 
of love. 

In that great compilation which is called the 
Bible, we make distinctions which your charming 
subscribers are quite right in ignoring. The deli- 
cious idyls, which will always maintain the Bible in 
an incomparable rank among books, are found in 
those portions of the ancient recitals which proceed 
from a certain narrator, who is almost always easily 
to be recognized. He is the author of the beau- 
tiful pages in Genesis, wherein is depicted the 
grandiose Jehovah who creates the world, then re- 
pents ; who perceives plainly that the sole means to 
reform humanity is to destroy it, and who, never- 
theless, after his failure in the matter of the 
Deluge, resolves to allow it to follow its own course 
in the future. This pessimist of genius, the inven- 
tor of original sin, is especially admirable m every- 
thing which concerns woman's part in human af- 
fairs. When he attacks this subject, he is profound, 
tender, mysterious. His terrible giant of a Je- 
hovah occupies himself with marriages, interests 
himself in lovers. It is to this philosopher, gloomy 
as Schopenhauer or M. Hartmann, that we are 



ERNEST REN AM. 5* 

indebted for the patriarchal idyls of Isaac and 
Rebecca, of Jacob and Rachel. It is he who 
shows LIS, in the dim distance, the sons of God 
perceiving that the daughters of men were fair, and 
quite at the beginning of things, it is he whcT re- 
lates to us how the woman was drawn from the 
side of the man — the most beautiful myth which 
exists in any religion ; the primitive nudity, at which 
the inhabitants of Eden did not blush ; the modesty 
which is born with sin, the broad leaves of the 
Indian fig tree serving to veil their first shame ; 
then that garment of skins in which Jehovah, a 
costumer of the Michael Angelo pattern, clothes the 
exiles with his own hands. 

The book of Ruth is of the same school. No 
one is so tender as the austere man. All these old 
fables are marvels of grandeur, of sober and firm 
design, without any of those literary reticences which 
spoil everything. For my part, I cannot read it 
without tears. And certainly, I am also very fond 
of that touching anonymous person, that old monk 
arrived at the perfection of wisdom, who wrote in 
the "Imitation" the perfect rule of love: Aina 
nesciri — Love to be ignorant. 

If I had taken part in your competition, de- 
scending to more human regions without emerging 
from mysticism, I might, perhaps, have added to 
these almost divine books, several grand works of 
Christian genius ; for example, the "Confessions of 
Saint Auofustine," the " Introduction to the Life of 



52 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Devotion," of St. Franpois de Sales. What 
enchanting books ! Especially the " Introduction ! " 
I have it not at hand here. But I recall the chap- 
ter on the love of wedded pairs as one of the most 
charming pages in existence. The holy bishop 
has a peculiar system for conjugal love ; he thinks 
that, marriage being in itself a heavy, disagreeable 
thing, filled with duties — in short a purgatory — 
the Eternal in his infinite goodness has added to 
it a special sweetness, which one may enjoy with 
all quietness of conscience, since it is the com- 
pensation for a chain which is otherwise extremely 
unpleasant. 

Thus Abimelech, King of Gerar, receiving 
in his states Isaac and Rebecca, " the chastest 
married pair in all the Old Testament," who gave 
themselves out as brother and sister, speedily 
recognized the fact that they were something quite 
different. As he walked in the evening through 
the streets of Gerar, he divined the truth, from the 
manner in which they smiled at each other. The 
commentary of Franpois de Sales on this narrative 
is a masterpiece of delicacy and worldly irony, 
relieved by extreme goodness. Nevertheless, is 
the reasoning of the sainted bishop very conclu- 
sive, and is the compensatory plan of the Eternal 
as evident as he thinks ? We may certainly dis- 
pute this. For, in short, if pleasure had not been 
devised by God to render marriage endurable, we 
must conclude that it does not exist outside of 



ERNEST RENAN. 53 

marriage. Now, the holy bishop does not dare go 
so far as that, and it appears, from this point on, 
that his theory as to the secret designs which God 
may have had when he invented love, is weak at 
the very foundation. 

There is also, perhaps, something defective 
through irony, in the manner in which Franfois de 
Sales, in this same chapter, desires that one should 
treat old married people. According to him they 
must be regarded as ripe fruits. If they possess 
no defect, no spot which arouses a fear lest they 
may spoil, one may preserve them all winter ; and 
to that end, the best means is to bind them up in 
the very leaves which clustered about them in their 
freshness. These leaves constitute a little environ- 
ment for them ; a society, habits, wherein they 
believe that they still live. But if they have some 
blemish, some principle of corruption, they are fit 
only to be made into preserve. The preserve, 
naturally, is devotion, which preserves them and 
furnishes them with sugar which they would not, 
perhaps, any longer retain otherwise. 

I give this recipe of the good Bishop of Annecy 
for what it is worth. It is not for the sake of that 
page that I would have presented it to the com- 
petition. But it is certain, that the tone which he 
maintains with his Philothea is that of an exquisite 
man. He was very fond of women, and put them 
to marvelous profit, because he always imposed 
upon himself the absolute rule of his profession. 



54 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

He admits the possibility of tender collaboration 
and of very intimate relations between man and 
woman, to the advantage of a work beloved in 
common. This is one of the secrets of the Church 
of Jesus, and therein lies the explanation of the 
sentiment which women, in certain countries, often 
cherish for priests. They find them superior to 
their husbands, and, as the sarcedotal vow in- 
spires them with a sort of security, they give them- 
selves up, without qualms, to a sentiment which 
they would combat under any other circumstances. 

Award then, without hesitation, the prize to those 
of your competitors who have voted for the sacred 
books. They have perfectly understood, in the 
first place, that the good manner of speaking of 
love is to place the essence and perfume of it 
everywhere, not to talk of it directly and in a 
doctrinal tone ; next, that the mystics, or, in other 
words, those who have made the least misuse of 
love are those who can speak of it the best. 

Give as prize to these grave readers a copy of 
the "Introduction to the Life of Devotion," in the 
edition of M. de Sacy, published by Techener, with 
Jansenist binding. What an enviable privilege is 
that of these ancient books, which have the right 
to be read in church by pious women, at the 
moment when, with eyes down-dropped, without 
distractions, they hold all their thoughts concen- 
trated before God, having nothing in their hearts 
save what is tender^ amiable, and good ! I often 



ERNEST REN AN. 55 

wish to live in the few phrases over which those 
for whom the ancient missal does not suffice run 
their eyes. Alas ! I know not whether that will be 
granted me ! 

Now it is understood, that if you have received 
more worldly, more gay, more truthful solutions 
perhaps, you must not deprive them of their 
recompense either. In this case, give prizes cor- 
responding to the eternal duplicity which forms 
the bottom of human nature, and everyone will be 
satisfied ; which is the essential point. 

Believe in my sentim.ents of the most affectionate 
devotion. 



THE CELTIC DINNER. 

The Celtic dinner was, at first, a reunion of poor 
Bretons, nearly all of whom made verses, and as- 
sembled to read them to each other once a month, 
at the nearest possible spot to the railway station 
where one alights on arriving in Brittany. Its 
founder is M. Quellien, a poet himself and the au- 
thor of Breton novels, full of charm. The price of 
the dinner was fixed in the beginning, and still re- 
mains, at five francs. Its sobriety has remained 
the same ; but, thanks to an obliging ethnography, 
the limits of the Celtic race are the limits of the 
world itself ; all races receive hearty welcome 
at our little qircle, I have seen there Hindoos, 



56 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Lithuanians, Hungarians, and even negroes. At 
desert, cider takes the place of champagne ; poe- 
try overflows in the most widely differing languages; 
the low Breton sung by Quellien forces applause 
from even those who do not understand the first 
word of it. 

Quellien prolonged my life by ten years when, 
about 1880, he invited me to these reunions full of 
gayety and cordiality. There I find again all my 
old memories ; I feel rejuvenated by fifty years. 

I talk a great deal there, and, as I like to talk 
at dinners without counting or preparing my 
words, I emerge from them as from a trip to 
Brittany, gay- — relatively speaking — ardent for my 
work, attached once more to life. 

Although the most absolute discretion is the rule 
of the Celtic dinner, Quellien knows some journals. 
He knows that the public are amused with very 
small matters, provided that they concern persons 
whose names are familiar, and that what is said of 
them is not very serious. 

The friendship of those who listen to me causes 
them, moreover, to find pleasure in recalling dis- 
connected remarks, which possessed no other in- 
terest than the freedom with which they were 
uttered. Sometimes the newspapers have con- 
tained extracts of them on the following morning. 

Twice or thrice it has happened to me, while 
perusing these good-natured accounts, to find that, 
thanks to the editors, who put a little coherence 



ERNEST REN AN. 57 

into them, some of my remarks contained a toler- 
ably pronounced Breton flavor. My dear Calmann 
having recommended me to compose this volume 
of nothing which was not Breton, I give here two 
or three scraps of this nature. They refer to the 
two or three solemn occasions of the Celtic dinner, 
which are the first meeting in November, the 
King's (the Epiphany) dinner in January, and that 
which Quellien calls the '' Pardon of the Bretons," 
at the April reunion. 

On the feast of the Epiphany of 1889, the fol- 
lowing is attributed to me : 

" You know what a horror I have of speeches, 
especially of speeches at table— and yet, 1 
cannot help saying something in honor of the 
Three Kings. Yes, I cherish a particular 
devotion for them. In those days — they were 
good old days ! — the wise men were kings, 
the kings were wise men ! And what beautiful 
attributes they had ! One bore incense, another 
bore myrrh. And the third— prompt me, Coppee ! 

" Ah, yes ! the third bore gold. A good 
thing also ! Ah ! they were very chimerical 
kings, and if they were to arrive in Paris, and offer 
themselves to universal suffrage — oh! certainly, we 
should vote for them, eternal children that we are, 
obstinate partisans of the chimerical. Would we 
not, Quellien? But what a fine fiasco we should 
make too ! Oh ! a complete fiasco ! These poor 
Magi kings ! how they would lie beaten ! . Evi- 
dently universal suffrage is a fine thing. But I 
think that the Magi kings would have done better 



58 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

to present themselves in Brittany. There, perhaps, 
in short — for they were, after all, real idealists, 
quitting their country to follow a star ! — there 
they would have been received with honors ; they 
would have been cheered. 1 have no doubt about 
the matter ; they would have been unanimously 
nominated sovereigns of this kingdom of which we 
form a part, of which we are the faithful subjects, 
the kingdom of the eternal chimera ! Therefore 
I wish to propose a toast, in this excellent cider, to 
the health of the Magi kings — to the health of 
Melchior, Balthazar, and Gaspan" 

At the moment when M. Renan raises his glass, 
cries are heard from all quarters : 

" Who is the king ? " 

M. Renan cutting the cake which stands before 
him : 

" Can it be I, by any chance ? Oh, good Heav- 
ens ! 1 perceive, a trifle too late, that, in drinking 
the health of Balthazar, I have drunk my own 
health. Gentlemen, I am really touched. Here I 
am king ! I have for insignia a bean. What 
a delicious kingdom is that of the bean ! Perhaps 
it is chance which has favored me. But I prefer 
to be king under the sign of the bean, rather than 
to be chosen by universal suffrage. Let us drink 
then to the bean, to the Magi kings, to the realm 
of faerie, to the forest of Broceliande ! " 

In 1891 I repeated myself somewhat ; for it 
would appear that this is what I said : 

** How shall one contrive to speak of the Magi 
after our friend Bocuhor, in his enchanting *■ Noel,' 



ERNEST REN AN. 59 

of the other day ? What an exquisite little work, 
what a charming evening he has given me ! 
What good sentiments he attributed to his royal 
personages ! I know not whether those worthy 
sovereigns possessed so advanced a theology. 
But what does it matter ? They were certainly 
persons of spirit. 

The legend does not state that they came to 
Brittany. It is a pity they came to Treves ; the 
fact is certain, since their inn is still to be seen 
there — the inn in which they stayed — evidently, 
it was the best in town. Travelers of such 
importance ! 

But, if we are not certain that they came to Brit- 
tany, it is, at least, excessively probable, is it 
not, my dear Quellien ? Make some researches 
on this point ; you will discover something. And 
if they did go thither, they must have been ex- 
tremely pleased. They found there so many good 
things, a sweet country, good people — and good 
cider. 

They are certainly our patrons. We idealists, 
detached from the things of earth, follow a star, 
like the Magi, without knowing in the least 
whither it will conduct us ! 

How good was that which they did — they 
abandoned their subjects, and, after all, we do 
not see that the subjects grumbled over it. 
Constitutional rule sometimes makes progress 
through the absence, the madness, or the minority 
of sovereigns. 

Yes, we are a little like those Magi of the Orient. 
We are the traveling companions of the stars ! 
That which they followed, not knowing whither it 
would conduct them, led them to a manger, where, 
upon the straw, they found that which they sought. 



6o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The stars which we follow resemble the star of 
the Magi ; they lead us — upon the straw. We 
succeed in everything, gentlemen, but I believe 
that we shall never succeed in becoming rich. 
That is not our profession. We shall always- leave 
to others the burdensome care of being wealthy. 
That does not concern us. Vidiiuus stellam ejus ; 
venimiis adoi-are euni — We have seen his star ; we 
come to adore him. I sometimes feel a great 
curiosity to know what took place in the kingdoms 
of these good monarchs, during their journey 
in quest of the true God. I ought to have asked 
my colleague M. de Vogiie. You know that the 
Vogues descend from the Magi kings, — or, at least 
from the one named Melchior, — and that is why 
the eldest of the family bears the baptismal name 
of Melchior, in memory of their glorious ancestor. 
My colleague de Vogiie must have among his 
family documents some very interesting informa- 
tion concerning him. It is the same in Savoy, 
where the Costa de Beauregard, if I am not mis- 
taken, believe that they descend from the good 
thief, and hence the eldest of the family is always 
named Bonlarron — good thief ! Ah ! that is a 

saint of fine authenticity Jesus said to him 

on the cross : ' To-day thou shalt be with me in 
paradise!' There are few canonizations so regu- 
lar as that. 

It is always Latin and history that the cures 
know. If I had been a country priest, as it was, 
evidently, my vocation to be — what a charming 
profession ! How much good one can do, and 
how happy one can be ! — I would have pronounced 
a panegyric every year on the Magi kings. Not 
being a country priest, finding myself called to 



ERNEST RE NAN. 6 1 

Other exercises, I return to my beaten path with 
you ; 1 become parish priest once more." 

The Pardon of 1889 was particularly brilliant 
and animated. Quellien sparkled. 

"You have spoken like an oracle, my dear Quel- 
lien, and you must be very greatly satisfied and 
proud to have such a fine Celtic dinner this even- 
ing ; a dinner such as you have never seen before. 

M. QudliejL—Oh ! Yes, I have ! At Tre- 
guier ! 

M. Renan. — Yes, at Treguier only, if you please. 
Well ! I assure you, gentlemen, that this festival 
fills me with joy. My friend Quellien has just 
reminded you, in the most perfect way, of what a 
Pardon is. One could find a great deal of pleas- 
ure in it, even if one did not belong to the parish. 
There were dances, drinking ; one heard sermons ; 
one gained indulgences. Indulgences ! . . . . 
Oh, what a good thing ! Who among us does 
not need them ? It was a very good thing ; forty 
days, a hundred days of indulgence, to be won ! 
It is true that forty days of indulgence, when one 
has thousands of days of purgatory in perspective, 
are very little. But, on the other hand, I always 
figure this purgatory to myself as something 
charming. It must be an excessively agreeable 
sojourn ; one always finds excellent company 
there ; for, is it not true, that it is not the people 
who are the most agreeable to know, who go 
straight to paradise ? I imagine that we shall find 
there discreet, little, somber alleys, where charming 
interviews will be unfolded, perhaps the continua- 
tions of delicious romances beo^un on earth. 



62 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

This Quellien is, really, an organizer of the first 
rank. [Addressing Prince Roland Bonaparte:] 
Permit me, Prince, to tell you a little of his eth- 
nography ; it is truly marvelous. He is convinced 
that the Celtic race is the center,. the pivot of the 
entire world ; but the question is as to how he 
understands the matter. According to his manner 
of looking at it, the limits of the Celtic country 
are the limits of the world. All the world is Celt, 
and thus it is that we meet at this dinner a com- 
pany that is excellent and varied in the most 
delightful manner. 

But to return to the Pardons, I often picture to 
myself those of Brittany in the olden time. At 
Saint Yves, for example, near Tr^guier, I remem- 
ber that pulpit backed up against the wall of the 
church — in the Middle Ages, you know, they 
preached in the open ain The pulpit was reached 
by a ladder : no other communication existed, 
either on the interior or exterior — no staircase. 
The preacher climbed over the balustrade and 
spoke. On the whole, that which was preached 
was tolerably within my own sympathies ; they 
preached the pardon of injuries, reconciliation — 
this, by the way, was a very good thing, and 1 feel 
grateful to my dear Saint Yves for having inspired 
from his tomb so good a doctrine. I have related 
elsewhere how he was my guardian. At the death 
of my father, my mother, perceiving the desperate 
state of my affairs, took me by the hand, led me to 
his chapel, and confided me to the care of this 
excellent man of the law. I cannot say that the 
holy man proved himself a great man of business, 
so far as I am concerned ; I am none the less 
grateful to him. A few days ago I read the docu- 
ments which M. de La Borderie has published on 



ERNEST REM AM. (i^ 

his biography. Some of them made an impression 
on me. There we behold the man as though he 
had Hved only twenty years ago ; his costume, his 
ways, his habits of action ; in everything he was 
one of the men who has done the most honor to 
Brittany. His reputation was spread over the 
whole world. A low-Breton who makes the vast 
world speak of him certainly deserves some credit 
for that. In order to find a holy lawyer, people 
have been forced to come in search of him even to 
Lower Brittany ; it is because there were not many 
elsewhere. 

Heavens ! How I should like to preach a lay 
sermon from the summit of that pulpit of Saint 
Yves, or from any other. I should have liked to 
preach ! However, I am a priest miscarried ! am 
I not, and the civil dress does not suit me at all. 
[Laughter.] I should have liked to preach at a 
Pardon in Brittany, and what I should have liked 
to preach is a little pacification. Men are too 
much divided ; that saddens me. Li my child- 
hood I did not see that ; there were great differ- 
ences of opinion, there was no division to the 
death, as there is to-day. My father and my 
grandfather were great patriots ; they took part in 
the revolution. In 1815 the situation became very 
difficult for my father. The counter-signature of 
a Chevalier of Saint Louis was necessary on every 
occasion. The principal Legitimist of the locality 
came and said to him : ' M. Renan, when you 
require a signature, I do not wish you to ask for 
it from anyone but me.' Not a shadow of hatred 
between the men who had almost discharged shots 
at each other the day before. 

This began to undergo a change in 1830. Thus 
it was that the mass which was said for the festi- 



64 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

val day of the King, Louis Philippe — Philippe's 
mass as it was called — became a great cause of 
divisions. My mother related to me how, one day, 
she went to this mass — it was on a Sunday. On 

her way thither, she encountered Madame D , a 

very respectable person, who lived along side of 
us — an old Legitimist, of course — who said to her : 
' What, Madame Renan, are you going to Phi- 
lippe's mass ! ' And my mother answered her : 

'Good Heavens ! Madame D , I am going to 

mass, but if it causes you pain, I will not go.' 

It is not like that now ; people are at swords' 
points. We who dwell in Paris do not see it. 
Everything with us is confined to very petty 
schisms, to schismatic dinners, which signify 
nothing ; is not one free to dine in one's own 
fashion ? But, in the country, it is much more 
serious. People scrutinize each other and press 
each other very close. I repeat, let us endeavor 
to understand each other ; human affairs are not 
worth the trouble, while rending each other asunder 
over them, of rendering existence disagreeable on 
account of them. 

This is the little lay sermon which I should have 
liked to preach had it been possible for me to 
speak in a pulpit, which is forbidden to me. 

Well, let us thank our dear Quellien for his 
initiative, and let us all drink, if you please, to the 
prosperity of this dinner ; not, as Quellien said, to 
his Pardon of 1909, but, within sensible and modest 
limits, to its cordiality, to its gayety. May Saint Yves 
guard us against quarrels and discords. Amen." 

At the session, when we reassembled in Novem- 
ber, the gentlemen ask me in general how I have 
spent my holiday at Perros. 



ERNEST REN AN. 65 

"I have seen once more my little old friends: 
flowers which I have never seen except in Brittany, 
birds upon which I founded a complete mythology 
in my childhood. Never do I hear without a shiver 
'the bird which saws its heart.' It has a strong 
hiccough, which recalls the sound of a saw drawn 
down from above. It troubles me ; I imagined in- 
side of him a little diamond saw, with steel teeth, 
prodigiously fine, with which he made an incision 
in his heart to keep from suffocating. 

The young girls seem to me as pretty and ingen- 
uous as ever ; evidently our doctrines have not 
reached them. They have the same air of gay, 
resigned credulity. We live all our life on the 
memory of the heads of young girls which we have 
seen from sixteen to eighteen years of age. I have 
seen once more several of the little friends who 
played with me when I was a child, and who ap- 
peared to me, for the first time, to personify duty, 
charm, virtue. They are no longer my little friends. 
Poor Manon, my little nurse, who was five or six 
years older than I, died last year. She belonged to 
a family of poor Legitimists. We used to have 
grand political discussion*; she maintained that 
Louis Philippe was not really king. She died happy 
in the hospital, where I went to see her, for I gave 
the wherewithal to make for her, after her death, 
what is called a chapel ; that is to say, a funeral ex- 
hibition at the gate of the hospital, where relatives 
and friends come to bid you farewell, A more ser- 
ious nurse was IVIarie L , whom I found again 

this year. She is a hospital nurse, under the name 
of Sister Marie-Agathe. She must be more than 
eighty years of age. I was six years old ; I 
thought her ver/ pretty. 

I conferred this distinction upon her at a very 



66 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE TTERS OF 

early age. The day after our instalment at Lan- 
nion — 1 was seven years old — I was dispatched on 
an errand to an aunt, who was very kind to us, 
where we had two cousins, who soon became great 
friends with my sister Henriette. I did my errand 
all wrong ; I had forgotten everything. ' Come, 
whom did you see? Adele? Alexandrine?' I 
did not yet know how to distinguish my cousins 
by name. I replied : ' The pretty one.' That 

evening my aunt told the tale to my Aunt T ; 

they laughed a great deal ; the one who was not 
pretty, but who was the best girl in the world, 
' made war ' on me during the whole evening. 

In this connection let me tell you that, a few 
months ago, I had a lively impression of the pleasure 
which I used to feel with my young girl companions 
sixty years ago. It was in my quarters at the Col- 
lege de France. One day Yves, my servant-man, 
came and announced that an old lady and a young 
girl requested to speak with me. I gave orders 
that they should be shown in. The young one 
entered alone, and seated herself with charming 
grace and ease. She^ was a child of twelve or 
thirteen, her face fresh and rosy, surrounded by an 
aureole of white curls, with an expression of ex- 
treme candor. I thought I beheld an apparition, 
as though one of the little Bretons of my sixteenth 
year had been resuscitated before me ; I thought 
of the one whom I had loved the most : Sic oculos^ 
sic ilia manus^ sic ora fej-ebal — These were her 
eyes, this was her hand, thus spolte her mouth. 

My little visitor opened the conversation at 
once. 'Sir,' she said to me, 'will you accept 
something from me ? ' ' Yes, certainly, mademoi- 
selle.' She opened a very tiny card-case, and took 
from it a small medal, which she handed to me. 



ERNEST REN AN. 67 

As I thanked her, she said, without literary affecta- 
tion, that I had written a great. many beautiful 
things, that people had quoted to her some of my 
thoughts which had given her pleasure. Not a 
word about religion. Oh, profound cleverness of 
the dove ! She knew that the first word of propa- 
ganda would have awakened in me the hardened 
protester, and that once entangled in those arid 
wastes, one can no longer escape from them. She 
remained on the ground of which she was the mis- 
tress, and allowed me to parade before her 1 know 
not what incoherent phrase about the distinction 
between the gift in itself and the sentiment which 
had prompted the offering of it. On leaving, she 
offered me her little hand, and permitted me to 
press it. I conducted her to the anteroom, where 
I found seated a sort of elderly nun, who had ac- 
companied her. From the contented smile of the 
young girl, the duenna understood that I had 
accepted. I overheard the two women conversing 
very affectionately about me as they descended the 
staircase. 

I ask your pardon for thus diving with you into 
my memories, but life, at my age, is made up of 
souvenirs ; it is also made of good moments like 
this. You really rejuvenate me when you appear 
so glad to have me at your table that it would be 
very ungracious of me, next year, not to be in this 
world, in order to be present at such a gathering." 

Quellien has rnany other notes ; I leave them to 
him ; he will narrate all when I am dead. He will 
do well, nevertheless, to limit himself, and not to 
fall into the provincial error of assuming that every- 
one must take pleasure in that which the memories 



6S RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

of onr childhood tinge for us with deceptive hues. 
A certain history of a parish priest in Brittany 
strikes me as full of philosophy. One day, during 
the sermon, everyone burst into tears. A stout 
fellow, who was leaning against the base of a pillar, 
remained utterly indifferent. " And you, why do 
you not weep ? " he was asked. '* I ?" he replied, 
" I am not of this parish." 



THE GAULS IN BRITTANY. 

During the last days of August, 1889, the Ar- 
chaeological Society of Wales, while visiting Brit- 
tany, made a brief halt at my solitude of Ros- 
mapamon. In introducing them to me, my friend, 
Mr. John Rhys, professor of Celtic at Oxford Uni- 
versity, was so good as to utter a few words which 
touched me to the heart. I replied as follows : 

" I ought to thank you in Breton, gentlemen and 
ladies. But it is now fourteen hundred years since 
we separated ; our dialects have had time to 
diverge widely ; we might find some difficulty in 

understanding each other. And in English 

That is one of my disgraces. In my day, we were 
taught only Latin. I read English, but I under- 
stand it ill when I hear it, and I do not speak it. 
It is a little the fault of my wife, who has acted as 
my interpreter on the numerous occasions when I 
have had need of your beautiful language. 

You come from Lannion, the natal town of my 



ERNEST RENAN. 69 

mother. I will relate to you a memory about that 
little city, which was told me by your great poet 
Tennyson. During an excursion to Brittany, he 
passed a night at Lannion. On preparing to de- 
part, he asked his landlady for his bill, and she 
replied: * Oh, nothing, sir. You have sung our 
King Arthur ! ' Our community of race is one of 
the historical facts upon which I am fondest of 
meditating. I have often said to myself, that if 
the storms which traverse our poor land of France 
in this century should force me to seek an asylum in 
England — it is not probable ; I am old, and then, 
this dear country is tenacious of life ; one must 
not get excited over every crisis which it tra- 
verses — I should appeal, if only for the sake 
of amusing the public a little, to the old law of 
Edward the Confessor : Britones, Armorici, quum 
venerint in regno isto suscipi debent et in regno 
protegi sicut probi cives de corpore regni hujus ; 
exierunt quondam de sanguine Britonum regni 
hujus. [Britons and Armoricans, when they come 
to this kingdom, must be received and protected 
like honorable citizens of the body of this king- 
dom ; for they spring from the blood of the 
Britons of this kingdom.] People remembered 
the history of the olden days then. Moreover, we 
have not changed much. We belong to an obsti- 
nate race which is always behind the times. 
Even when, in appearance, we pass from black to 
white, we remain the same at bottom. Our old 
saints were very headstrong. Those good old 
saints of Brittany, all of Gaelic or Irish origin, are 
my great devotion. I do not care much for the 
modern saints, I confess ; they are too intolerant. 
Alas, veritable saints are becoming scarcer every 
day ! The modern clergy does not love them ; 



7o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

they say mass once a year in their chapel, but they 
are not sorry when the chapel and the legend dis- 
appear. The clergy has an instinctive feeling 
that these saints of another day were a bit hereti- 
cal and schismatic ; in any case, they have never 
been canonized by the .Pope. This is what oc- 
curred, not very far from this spot, a few years 
ago, I am told. There was a little chapel dedi- 
cated to Saint Beuzec. I think that is the ancient 
name Budoc. His stone statue had become nearly 
shapeless ; the parish priest took up a collection to 
restore it. This produced about forty francs, with 
which the cure purchased from the iiiiage-dealers 
of the Rue Saint-Sulpice, a Virgin of Lourdes, 
which he cleverly substituted for the decrepit 
statue. This is the manner in which a saint is 
suppressed and replaced by the effigy of a melan- 
choly modern miracle. In heaven we know Saint 
Beuzec is safe from attack. But on earth, what 
dangers are incurred by these old patriarchs of our 
race. A few good women still know their legends, 
which the parish priest feigns to be ignorant of ; 
they must be collected as speedily as possible. 

The resemblances are great between us. The 
differences, on the contrary, seem to me very 
small. You are Protestants ; we are Catholics. 
Oh, that is a difference of merely secondary 
rank ! Are not Protestants and Catholics the same 
before God, if they practice their religion from the 
heart ? I am in the habit of saying that, in virtue 
of many analogies, the Breton populations of 
France should have become Protestants like those 
of England. The religious sentiment in these 
peoples is very profound, very individual, very 
much detached from forms and books. Renee of 
France, the daughter of Anne of Brittany, was 



ERNEST REN AN. 7 1 

Calvin's firmest supporter. The power of Rome in 
these localities has been created by the French 
concordats, the result of which has been that, for 
centuries, there has hardly been a single Bishop in 
Breton territory who could speak Breton. 

You are good English subjects, we are good 
French subjects : two fine traditions of civilization. 
.... A lofty duty is incumbent upon both of us. 
It is to maintain friendly relations between the 
great nations who share us between them, and 
whose common action, whose rivalry, if you like, isi 
so necessary to the good of civilization. It is so 
stupid to hale each other. By working for peace, 
we shall, in reality, be working at a Celtic labor. 

Did time permit, I would tell you my ideas as to 
the ethnography of France and the United King- 
dom. My opinion is that the proportion of Celtic 
and Germanic elem.ents is very nearly the same in 
both. The Anglo-Saxons did not carry their 
women with them any more than the Franks did. 
The triumph of the Anglo-Saxon tongue arises 
from the fact that, with you, Latin did not kill out 
the Celtic dialects as it did on this side of the 
Strait. Anglo-Saxon was extinguished by Anglo- 
Roman, as the Frank language died out before the 

Gallo-Roman But I have already detained 

you too long with my loquacity. You are in haste 
to go and pay your devotion to Notre-Dame de la 
Clatre, and to Saint Guirec. I will go with you." 



72 RECOLLECTIONS AND LEl'TERS OF 

CAN ONE WORK IN THE COUNTRY ? A 
SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE SORBONNE 
AT A GENERAL SESSION OF THE CON- 
GRESS OF THE LEARNED SOCIETIES, 
JUNE 15, 1889. 

Monsieur le Ministre. 

Gefitlemen : When an amiable message from 
Monsieur the Minister of Public Instruction pro- 
posed to me, a month ago, the honor of taking part 
in this solemn assembly, I was so much touched 
by the pleasure that I should have in conversing 
with you for a few moments, that I forgot the wise 
resolution which I adopted several years ago, never 
to speak again in this vast amphitheater made for 
voices younger and more sure of themselves than 
mine. Nevertheless, the temptation was very great. 
An audience like yours, the result of an enlightened 
selection, seems to me a piece of rare good fortune ; 
your reunion appears to me the living proof of a 
thought which is habitual with me, or, to express it 
more exactly, like a decisive argument in favor of 
a protest which always escapes from my lips when 
I hear the deplorably erroneous opinion announced 
that one can work only in Paris. On a day like 
this such an assertion is, assuredly, nonsense. In 
the presence of such lofty recompenses and of this 
mass of works to which the most competent judges 



ERNEST REN AN. 73 

render homage ; after listening to your infinitely 
learned discourses on the infinitely varied objects 
which occupy the human mind, the learned fe- 
cundity of the country requires no demonstration. 
It is none the less true that the contrary opinion 
leads many minds astray, thwarts many careers. I 
should like, in your company, to seek the origin, 
the causes of this, and, if possible, to point out 
some remedies by means of which certain real 
inconveniences may be lessened. 

The idea that one cannot work in the country is 
less than one hundred years old. A hundred 
years ago Buffon had just died ; the great out- 
lines of " Natural History " had been discovered at 
Montbard. A little earlier, Montesquieu had dis- 
covered the most profound laws of political history 
at Bordeaux. Not only did men work in the prov- 
inces in those days, but they produced masterpieces 
there. The concentration of intellectual matters 
in Paris begins during the first years of the nine- 
teenth century. Around this marvelous center of 
light and intellect, a zone of shadow could not fail 
to form, by the law of contrasts. A powerful drain- 
age of the intellectual forces of France was in 
operation. The Constitution of the year III had 
settled that there was to be a National Institute 
for the whole of the Republic — a national institute 
charged with collecting discoveries, and perfecting 
arts and sciences. A few weeks later, the Conven- 
tion decreed : " The National Institute of Arts 



74 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

and Sciences belongs to the whole Republic : it 
is fixed at Paris." 

It is clear that this decision did not arouse a 
single objection when it was passed. In its first 
organization, the Institute was composed of a cer- 
tain number of members residing in Paris and a 
like number of associate members residing in the 
different parts of the Republic. At the end of a 
few years, the impossibility of recruiting the pro- 
vincial contingent in a suitable manner was recog- 
nized ; residence in Paris was indispensable. The 
irresistible law was fulfilled. A maxim which is 
upheld in practice, even by those who condemm it 
in theory, could not fail to have deep roots. The 
exaggerated tendency to Parisian centralization 
must have had causes, in some direction, in its 
day. 

Its cause, in fact, lay in a very real necessity, in 
a momentary state of science which decreed that, 
for a certain period, creative efforts should be 
concentrated at a special point. The budget of 
science was slender in those days ; its implements 
were restricted in number ; the means of research 
were singularly limited, could not be separated 
into small bits without damage. The masters 
were, also, very few. When Laplace monopolized 
the problem of the mechanism of the universe ; 
when BerthoUet concentrated in his laboratory 
the efforts of a newly born chemistry ; when the 
battle of natural history was carried on exciu- 



ERNEST REN AN. 75 

sively around Cuvier and his emulators ; when 
Oriental studies were dependent upon Silvestre 
de Sacy, the multipHcity of schools was useless. 
It might even have proved fatal. Creation in sci- 
entific, literary, and artistic directions generally 
takes place at well-defined points, hence the 
creative age necessarily tends to unity. The spot 
where Galileo worked monopolized astronomy, 
as a matter of course. When Descartes and New- 
ton held in their brains the loftiest thought of their 
time, they were also terrible centralizers. 

It is not surprising, then, that the brilliant and 
fruitful period which France has been traversing 
for the last sixty years should have exacted a 
center of blossoming, a sort of nest, powerfully 
overheated and wisely arranged for the incubation 
of the many germs which have become, at the 
present moment, distinct worlds. The origin of 
each science almost always carries us back to a 
very restricted school — to an egg, if I may so ex- 
press myself — containing the principle of evolution 
and the nourishment of the new-born infant. 

In. order to make the chart of the heavens, an 
observatory was necessary. The work of renova- 
ting the ancient texts was possible only in the 
neighborhood of a vast library of manuscripts. 
Abel Remusat could not have created the science 
of Chinese in a city where there was no collection 
of Chinese books. 

But the state of affairs is now quite different. 



76 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The maturity to which a great many sciences have 
attained permits of excellent work outside of the 
centers where the creation was first made. Books 
and scientific collections are now so numerous that 
one is allowed to arrive, through reading, at orig- 
inal combinations. Leaving out of the question 
local history, which is so interesting, at least one 
half of scientific research can be effected by work 
in the study. In many branches of sciences — in the 
majority of Oriental studies, for example — the con- 
sultation of old books, anterior to the introduction 
of modern methods, has only a secondary impor- 
tance. By means of decidedly limited sacrifices, a 
sagacious investigator can, on a mass of problems 
of the first magnitude, assemble about him all the 
elements for entirely new critical researches. It is 
even very remarkable that it is the youngest sci- 
ences which require the least apparatus, and which 
can best be cultivated in cities which are not rich 
in repositories of ancient books. Take compara- 
tive philology, for example. By an initial expen- 
diture of a few thousand francs, and a subscription 
to three or four special publications, one may pos- 
sess the tools necessary for those long and patient 
comparisons for which the tranquillity of mind that 
one enjoys in the country offers particularly favor- 
able conditions. 

A very great number of branches of study might 
be thus pursued in an entirely private manner, and 
in the most retired localities, The finest example 



ERNEST REN AN. 77 

in this line hiis been furnished by the illustrious 
Uorghesi, who deliberately selected San Marino, 
and made it the center of his studies in Latin epig- 
raphy. He preferred a free village, where no 
one would concern themselves about him, further 
than to salute him respectfully, to papal Rome, 
where people would have busied themselves very 
much with him, but merely to hinder him, 

I can say as much of general philosophical 
ideas. Darwin never wished to leave the village 
where a sort of chance had established him. 
Leaving to Paris the great rarities, the limited 
specialties, the researches which require powerful 
outfits of tools, the country might also thus under- 
take with profit a mass of labors which have 
hitherto been reserved for scientific capitals, and 
which are now possible everywhere. Let each 
branch of science have its reviews — if I were 
permitted to express a wish, by the bye, I should 
ask that they be not too greatly multiplied — its 
periodical publications, which keep readers in- 
formed of what is being done in each workshop of 
researches; let the libraries of towns and faculties 
contain collections which it is difficult for private 
persons to possess ; let each individual take as 
great care of his library as of a part of himself, 
and the difference between Paris and the country, 
so far as work is concerned, will no longer exist, 
and at the next revision of the regulations of the 
Institute the article which exacts residence in 



78 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Paris may be suppressed without the slightest 
inconvenience. 

Even in that which touches work requiring 
vast collections of ancient books — work for which 
Paris assuredly possesses immense advantages — the 
country is not always aware of the resources 
which it possesses. A few days after I had passed 
my examination for a fellowship in philosophy 
in 1848, I received my appointment as professor 
in the Lyceum of Vendome ; this vexed me some- 
what, because I had begun my thesis on Averroes 
and Averroism ; M. Cousin and M. Le Clerc were 
so kind as to take an interest in the matter. I 
applied to M. Cousin, who replied to me in a brief 
note which ran nearly as follows : " If it is a ques- 
tion of certifymg to the administration, my dear 
Renan, that Vendome is the worst place in the 
world that could have been chosen for treating of 
Averroes, I will state to it that incontestable truth." 
I know not whether Vendome is, in point of fact, 
rich in old books of philosophy. But I must say 
that I made one portion of my thesis in those 
parts. Having gone to pass a few months at 
Saint Malo, a city which is not much more learned 
than Vendome, I found there a library formed on 
the basis of ancient stores from convents, where 
slumbered beneath a thick layer of dust the whole 
range of scholastic writers ; the editions of Aris- 
totle with Averroes' commentaries, printed at 
Venice, the indexes of Zimara, a good share of the 



RRNEST REMAIN. 79 

glosses of the Paduan masters. Ah ! certainly, 
they had not been read for a long time ! Had 
they ever been read, indeed ? .... Be that as it 
may, it was among these dusty volumes that I 
composed many chapters of my history of Aver- 
roism. I carried away the conviction that if one 
knows hov7 to make a thorough search one v^^ill 
find in the country infinitely more numerous ele- 
ments than it is believed for historical works of 
general interest. 

And how much more valuable for such works 
are the peaceful conditions of country life than the 
narrow, troubled, unstable, precarious conditions 
of life in Paris ! One of the necessities of erudi- 
tion is a vast commodious house, where one has 
neither moving nor disturbance to fear. The phil- 
ological sciences, like the physical sciences, need 
laboratories furnished with numerous tables to 
prevent the different works becoming entangled, 
and which lend themselves to those personal 
arrangements of the library that are the half of 
scientific labor. Moreover, love of the truth ren- 
ders a man solitary ; the country has solitude, re- 
pose, liberty. 

I will add to this the attractions and the smile of 
nature. These austere labors require joy of spirit, 
leisure, full possession of one's self. A pretty 
house in the suburbs of a large city ; a long work- 
room, furnished with books, hung on the outside 
with a tapestry of Bengal roses ; a garden with 



8o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Straight alleys, where one can divert one's thoughts 
for a moment with one's flowers from the conver- 
sation of one's books ; none of these things are 
without their use for that health of the soul which 
is necessary to intellectual work. Unless you are 
a millionaire, then — which is rare among us — try 
to have all this in Paris, on a fourth floor, in com- 
monplace houses constructed by architects who 
have never once put to themselves the hypothesis 
of a literary lodger ! Our libraries, where we are 
so fond of promenading among the variety of our 
thoughts and our books, are black cabinets, attics 
where the books are heaped up without producing 
the least light. Paris has the College of France ; 
that is sufficient to attach me to her. But cer- 
tainly, if the College of France were, like an abbey 
of the days of Saint Bernard, buried in the depths 
of woods, with long avenues of poplars, oak 
groves, brooks, rocks, with a cloister where one 
might walk in rainy weather, long lines of useless 
rooms, where new inscriptions, molds, new prints, 
were placed on long tables as they came, one 
might await death there more sweetly, and the 
scientific production of the establishment would be 
superior to what it is at present ; for solitude is a 
good source of inspiration, and work is of value 
in proportion to the calmness with which it is 
executed. 

We should exaggerate our theme, we should 
even distort it, were we to maintain that the ad- 



ERNEST RE NAN. 8 1 

vantages for scientific culture are everywhere the 
same. All cities cannot have an Institute, a Col- 
lege of France, an observatory, a museum, a 
School of Charts. Every faculty of letters cannot 
have a professorship of Arabic, of Egyptology, of 
/Vssyriology. There is, moreover, a certain sort 
of general stimulation, and, if I may venture to 
say so, of initiative of which Paris will preserve 
the secret for a long time to come. The seal of 
the highest culture can be acquired only at Paris. 
But, the sacrament once received, one may retain 
the efficacy and the perfume of it for a long while. 
The zealous Mussulman, who goes to the holy 
cities, does not impose upon himself the obligation 
to live there ; he bears about with him everywhere 
the sacred fire which he has acquired there, the 
confirmation which he has received there, the 
spirit which has been communicated to him there. 
Paris, in the Middle Ages, was the center of intel- 
lectual education for the whole world — people 
formed themselves there, but did not remain 
there. Each man, after having studied, or even 
taught there, returned to his own country and 
developed, after his own fashion, the germ with 
which he had been inoculated. 

Continue, then, gentlemen, your excellent work ; 
continue to enjoy your happiness, which, possibly, 
like Virgil's laborer, you do not appreciate as it 
deserves. The happiness of life is labor accepted 
freely as a duty. This is a fine saying in Eccle- 



^2 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

siastes : Loetari in opere siio — Rejoice in your 
work. As a professor of the Hebrew language, I 
am obliged to state that the shade of meaning in 
the original is not precisely this. The author, in 
this place, desires to speak of the legitimate pleas- 
ure which one feels in leading a merry life with 
the fortune which one has legitimately acquired by 
one's toil. But, in these ancient texts, the transla- 
tion is frequently better than the original. Lcetari 
in opere suo ! The deep satisfaction which scientific 
work brings, arises from the assurance that one is 
toiling at an eternal work, of which the object, at 
least, is eternal ; at a work which all enlightened 
nations are pursuing by the same methods, and 
from which they are obtaining results which can be 
compared between them. 

I am not one of those persons, gentlemen, who 
think that the cultivation of the mind ought to be 
adapted to the region. The human mind knows 
no region. The true method has nothing local or 
provincial about it. There is but one chemistry, 
but one science of physics, but one physiology; 
there is, also, but one philology, but one science of 
criticism. All that is mere literary taste, charm, 
poetry, amusement, religious sensations, memories 
of childhood and of youth, may clothe itself in 
local form ; but science is one, like the human 
mind, like the truth. The sick man, the most im- 
partial of men, because he desires but one thing, 
namely, that he may be cured, would never apply 



■ ERNEST REN AM. ^Z 

to regional medicine, if such a thing existed ; he 
will always be for the medicine without an epithet, 
the genuine one. 

The highest intellectual product of each province 
should have no provincial stamp. All one's life, 
one loves to recall the song in the popular dialect 
which has amused one in one's childhood ; but no 
one will ever make science, philosophy, or political 
economy in dialect. Science, in the scientific or- 
der, should not consist in dividing the human mind 
by provinces ; it should consist in suppressing the 
distinction between the capital and the provinces, 
in making of all intellectual France a single army, 
toiling with one common effort for the advantage 
of science, reason, and civilization. 



SPEECH AT THE FESTIVAL OF THE FELIBRES, 
AT SCEAUX, JUNE 21, 189I. 

You filled my heart with joy, gentlemen, when 
you came, a few days ago, to seek me in the arm- 
chair to which old age has confined me, to associate 
me with your festival. I am very fond of finding 
myself with people who still understand how to 
amuse themselves. It is rare, and it is such a good 
thing. After much reflection upon the infinite 
which surrounds us, I have come to the conclusion 
that the clearest thing of all is that we shall never 
know much. But an infinite goodness permeates 



§4 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

life, and I am persuaded that the moments which 
man devotes to joy must be counted among those 
in which he answers best to the views of the 
Eternal. 

Florian, your patron, and his great master Vol- 
taire, were decidedly of this opinion, and that is 
why all this pomp of festivity enchants me, gentle- 
men. You have comprehended that that which re- 
joices the heart of man, while it makes it better, is 
inseparable from that which recalls to him his child- 
hood and the land where he has first been happy. 
Every man's merit is in proportion to the joys 
which he has tasted at his entrance into life, and 
to the quantity of goodness which he has found 
round about him. The language in which we have 
uttered our first, stammering words, the song in 
local dialect which we have heard sung at the age 
of fifteen, a thousand details dear to the heart, 
which recall to us our beginnings, our humble but 
honest origin, make of our natal land a sort of 
mother toward whose bosom we always turn. 
Memory is, for every man, a part of his moral 
being ; woe to him who has no memories ! 

Hence you are doing something eminently good, 
healthy, and salutary, gentlemen, in grouping your- 
selves round this flag of your native land, which is 
loved for the most widely different reasons, but 
which symbolizes nothing but what is pacific and 
pure. The Breton loves his Brittany, where he has 
been poor, precisely because he has been poor. 



ERNEST RE NAN. 85 

The Norman loves his rich and luxuriant Nor- 
mandy, because it possesses all the gifts of earth 
and sky ; the Alsatian loves his Alsace, because 
it suffers — and you, gentlemen, love this radiant 
land, antique in its genius, always young through 
its generous ideas, rich in all glories, which has, on 
so many occasions, given to the greatest thoughts 
of the French fatherland a sonorous expression 
that the whole world has heard. 

It is a natural consequence of the noble and dis- 
interested sentiment with which you are inspired, 
gentlemen, that you have desired to associate me, 
a native of Lower Brittany, with a festival intended 
to commemorate, amid our rather gloomy country, 
your ardors of the South, your Provencal splen- 
dors. You think that, at the present day, it is not 
a question of contracting but of enlarging the 
circle. In loving my Brittany and joining my com- 
patriots, who are dear to me, several times during 
the year, I do that which you are doing now, 
gentlemen. We are engaged in the same work : 
in preserving for the heart its deepest delights, in 
preventing man from uprooting himself completely 
from the soil whereon he was born, in saving what 
simple joys of the soul still remain in the midst of 
a life that the complicated cares of modern society 
have somewhat robbed of their colors. 

My friend M. Quellien, the founder of the Celtic 
Dinner, has ideas on this subject which are the 
inspiration of downright genius. Quellien pos» 



86 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

sesses an ethnography which belongs to himself 
alone. Everybody is a Celt, in his eyes. I have 
seen at his dinner Lithuanians, Hungarians, Poles, 
Negroes. In the month of April there is 2i Pardon, 
after the fashion of Brittany, where everyone can 
be a Breton once a year. You, also, desire that 
everyone should be a native of the South once a 
year. Thanks for having given me this delightful 
day by your invitation. 

Science, abstract thought in search of the truth, 
have no provinces, nor even any country. But 
poetry, song, prayer, contentment, sadness, are in- 
dissolubly bound up with the language of our 
childhood. Life has many degrees ; the life of the 
whole takes nothing from the intensity of the life 
of the constituent elements. The bond which at- 
taches us to France, to humanity, does not diminish 
the strength and the sweetness of our individual 
and local sentiments. The conscience of the 
whole is not the extinction of the conscience of 
the parts ; it is the result of it, the complete blos- 
soming of it. 

It is through the very depths of our French 
unity that we sympathize, that we understand each 
other. The same arteries have nourished us be- 
fore our birth ; we loved each other when we 
came into the world. I remember well that, long 
before I left Brittany, I thought of Provence, my 
imagination dreamed of your " Gai Savoir " and of 
your Isles of Gold. My mother had an old book 



ERNEST REN AN. 87 

which she called " The Canticles of Marseilles." 
She was very fond of it ; I have it still ; it contains 
charming things. 

I was twenty-five years of age when I traversed, 
for the first time, that country which I had known, 
hitherto, only through books. Heavens ! What a 
revelation for me ! I had never, beheld any moun- 
tains. On the morning when I awoke in the 
midst of the mountains of Forez, the dentelated 
horizon filled me with amazement. Lyons became 
from that moment one of the cities which I love the 
most. I descended the Rhone in one day, from 
Lyons to Avignon. What enchantment ! In the 
morning, at four o'clock, the dense fogs of the 
quays of Perrache ; at Vienne, the beginning of the 
day ; at Valence, a new heaven, the real threshold 
of the South ; at Avignon, a luminous evening. 
It was the 5th of October, 1849. I was so charmed 
with it that, eight years later, I wished to take 
the same voyage with my wife. I was obliged to 
have recourse to obstinacy. At Lyons, they in- 
sisted that the boats no longer ran. We discovered 
one, nevertheless, which still transported the 
coarsest kinds of merchandise. It consented to 
take us ; the discomfort surpassed everything that 
can be imagined, but we were in ecstasies. 

Since then your Provence has become the land 
of my preference when I wish to make^ a mental 
journey into the past. Aries, Montmajour, Saint 
Gilles, Orange, form part of my frame§ of imagina- 



6 8 RECOLLE C TIONS A ND LE TTERS OF 

tion for antiquity and the Middle Ages. Your 
poetry of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries is 
one of the most beautiful classic apparitions with 
which I am acquainted. Greece is far away, but 
we have on our own soil a Greece as good as 
Attica and the Peloponessus — that admirable shore 
which extends from the mouth of the Rhone to 
Vintimille, Marseilles in particular ; which bears 
such a strong resemblance to the shores of Hellas 
that the mariners of Phocaea were deceived by it and 
thought themselves at home. 

Have I renounced the intention of making 
yet one more visit to those enchanted lands ? 
It would pain me to confess as much even to 
myself. No ; I shall behold your beautiful coun- 
try once more. I have never been to Aigues- 
Mortes, to Saint Remi, to Bau, to the source of the 
Vaucluse. And then, I wish to embrace Mistral 
in his own home ; I shall go to Maillane. Each 
year, I pass three months on the seacoast, in the 
depths of my dear Brittany. Oh ! it is a great joy 
to me. I find there a multitude of little, old ac- 
quaintances, birds, flowers, young girls, exactly 
like those who pleased me in days gone by with 
their little air of discretion and modesty. But the 
sun ? . . . . Ah ! it is rare in those parts, and 
rather pale. The mists are delightful, but the sun 
is life. I shall go and ask you for it. If I were 
rich enough to have two country houses under the 
open sky, it is among you that I would have a 



ERNEST RENAN. 89 

winter retreat. I do not dream of such an excess 
of luxury ; but you shall search out for me, at 
some point of your Greek shore, a very tranquil, 
very sunny nook, with two or three parasol pines 
where I may go, from time to time, to seek a little 
lubricating medium for my impoverished muscles, 
and my unsoldered joints. 

I feel a scruple at retarding too greatly, by a 
long speech, your patriotic exercises and your 
pleasures. I am in haste to witness those exqui- 
site diversions. I feel in a hurry to assist at your 
" Court of Love," which makes me dream. What 
can it be ? And your farandole ? And the 
tarasque? I do not wish to lose anything, even if I 
must reach Paris at an unseasonable honr. 

By your gayety, your dash, your true and just 
sentiment of life, you furnish an admirable correct- 
ive to our maladies of the North — that pessimism, 
harshness, avidity for self-torture, that subtlety 
which prompts people who are still young to ask 
themselves if love is sweet, if science is true, if 
roses are beautiful ! You know how to laugh and to 
sing ; you sing equally well in two languages. Let 
us then, my dear friends, bless the day which made 
us brothers, in spite of the evil chances of history. 
That was a good day. 

It is understood that, henceforth, the Bretons 
are to be welcome among the Felibres, and the 
Felibres among the Bretons. The kingdom of 
Is is the brother of the kingdom of Aries, and 



90 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

there is, also, a domain that is common to both of 
us, the realtJi of faerie — the only good one which 
exists on earth. There King Arthur has been de- 
tained for more than a thousand years, by bonds 
of flowers. The four white unicorns who bore him 
away stand harnessed ; at a sign, they will carry 
you away. 

Long live the South, gentlemen ; the South which 
at all epochs has furnished so capital a share to 
the selection of French genius ! Long live that poor 
Brittany which you have summoned to your festival ! 
And then, long live Paris, the only city in the world 
where what is going on to-day is possible : Paris, 
the city in common of the panegyrists, where the 
Breton holds his Pardons, the Southerner his 
Felibriges ; where each one expresses the poetry of 
his natal land, sings its local glories, regrets his 
village, curses centralization at his ease ; Paris, 
where each province lives and flourishes more ac- 
tively sometimes than at home; where the most 
varied sentiments are all translated into good 
French ; a very delectable tongue, when it is ma- 
nipulated by artists like yours, gentleman. 

Long live our dear French land, mother of these 
diversities, all amiable, all excellent in their own 
way ! Your association holds the first rank, 
among so many other manifestations of con- 
sciences, which have vanished, in appearance, but 
which come to life again in this century of the 
resurrection of the dead. It owes its rank to your 



ERNEST REN AN. 9 1 

sagacity, to your breadth of mind. It is this 
particular gift of accessibility, of openness, of cour- 
tesy, to which I am indebted for the favor which 
you have done me, and which will be reckoned 
among my most cherished memories. I am old*; I 
have reached the time of life when one must think 
of furnishing one's head with thoughts which will 
occupy hini during life eternal. It will be long ! I 
think that it is the latest images which will be 
the m.ost tenacious and will fill our immortal soul 
during the endless centuries to come. Well ! At 
this moment, I have charming images before my 
eyes ; I will guard them jealously ; I will place 
your Felibrige, your Troubadours festival, of 1891 
among the things of which I shall think during all 
eternity. 



MEMORIES OF THE '' JOURNAL DES DEBATS. 

I WAS brought into relations with the editors of 
the J ournal des Debats in April or May, 1853. The 
occasion of it was as follows. The new edi- 
tion of the Arabic commentary of the great 
Orientalist, Silvestre de Sacy, on the " Sessions of 
Hairi," had just appeared, through the courtesy of 
Messrs. Reinaud and Derenbourg. M. Ustazade* 

* Silvestre de Sacy, being a Jansenist and an Orientalist, 
had read the " Acts of the Eastern Martyrs," among which 
Saint Ustazade is one of the most celebrated. He gave this 



92 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Silvestre de Sacy, son of the illustrious savant, 
had been director of the Journal for several years ; 
he requested M. Reinaud to designate to him 
some one among his pupils who could give an 
account, in the Journal, of his father's masterly 
work. M. Reinaud was so kind as to think of me. 
I went to present my article to M. Ustazade,* who 
was pleased with it. He noticed a certain choice- 
ness of language, and he was so kind as to engage 
me to treat, in the Journal, those subjects which 
came within the limits of my studies, or which sug- 
gested to me some thought. 

It seems that the religious opinions of M. 
de Sacy should have formed an obstacle to all sym- 
pathy between him and me. There was nothing of 
the sort, however ; M. de Sacy soon saw clearly, 
that in abandoning positive religious beliefs, I had 
retained all which was not stamped, in my eyes, 
with the seal of absolute decay. He divined the 
living trunk and roots, behind the withered 
branches. The religion of M. de Sacy, on his side, 
was far more the perfume which lingers behind a 
vanished belief than a firm adhesion to definite 
dogmas. He perceived my sincerity. We pos- 
sessed in common that taste for serious things, 

name to his eldest son, no doubt with some latent thought of 
the worship which the Jansenists were fond of devoting to un- 
known saints. 

* It was by this name that M. de Sacy was always designated 
in the private circles of hxs Journal. 



ERNEST REMAN. 93 

which we had acquired, he in his Jansenist family, I 
in the Seminary of Saint Sulpice. The best trans- 
lations of the eighteenth century, reduced to peace, 
met and exchanged the kiss of reconcihation in 
us. 

M. de Sacy had, in fact, preserved the bonds 
which united him to his father's old sect ; rather the 
bonds of the heart than those of the formulas. He 
was a respectful but independent Catholic. He 
saw, very plainly, the difficulties in the way of be- 
lief ; he did not, in the least, seek to avoid seeing 
them. He did not stop there, but he considered 
it very good for people to stop there. He did 
not like apologists, he detested the hypocrites of 
orthodoxy. The intermediate deists, after the 
fashion of M. Cousin, satisfied him no better. He 
often said to me that the God of M. Saisset was 
the one whom he understood the least. The sects 
which are approaching their end almost all arrive 
at this dogmatic latitude. The moral education 
of believing generations remains ; the letter of the 
creeds melts away, and leaves behind it only the 
solid faith in duty which results, by a sort of hered- 
ity, from sectarian discipline long continued. 

Jansenism, to tell the truth, has been much more 
of a school of virtue than a school of theology. 
The heresy of Jansenius, if there ever was any 
heresy, had reached the point of designating 
nothing more than the manners of a grave, stu- 
dious bourgeoisie, which was but little worldly in 



94 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

its habits, and tolerably analogous to the ancient 
society of Calvin, but less pedantic and less stiff. 
M. Ustazade told me that one of the clauses in his 
mother's marriage contract claimed that her hus- 
band could never force her to wear bonnets. M. 
Silvestre de Sacy's rare merit caused them to 
prophesy that he would attain a very lofty social 
rank ; ancient customs were taking their precau- 
tions against all possible chances of fortune. M. 
Ustazade retained these habits of exquisite sim- 
plicity. In accordance with an improper custom, 
which is almost universal, he might have borne the 
title of nobility which Napoleon I. had conferred 
on his father. He never did. A delicious sim- 
plicity of manners and language was the true title 
of nobility which he possessed from his plebeian 
and Parisian origin. He had a sort of aversion for 
anything that might have given him the appearance 
of a man of the world. He did not like to go to 
watering-places for his health ; he said that those 
cures were reserved for princes, for the nobility, 
and that the bourgeoisie ought to content itself 
with old fashioned medicines — the best, perhaps — 
with cauteries, purging, and bleeding. 

I often spoke to him about the gravity of the 
gentlemen at Saint Sulpice, and, forgetting utterly 
that Saint Sulpice had treated the Jansenists very 
badly in former days, he was delighted at what I 
told him concerning this prolongation of ancient 
customs. He transmitted to me, on his side, recol- 



ERNEST RENAM. 95 

lections of the life of which he had been a witness. 
M. de Sacy, the elder, had been an excellent man, 
beneath his cold, reserved exterior. His son con- 
firmed what I had already learned from M. 
Reinaud, that, all his life, he had taken pleasure in 
the society of young women who united a delicate 
wit to the sensibility of their age. The austere 
savant rarely went out in the evening. M. Usta- 
zade loved to recall those long evenings in the 
family circle. M. de Sacy, the elder, busied himself 
with Arabic, or reviewed the accounts of the 
benevolent society of his quarter, by the aid of the 
compartments in a sort of checker-board, while his 
daughters, his sisters, and his aunts copied printed 
books. That was one way of passing the evening 
in this Jansenist society. The senses and the im- 
agination were thus suitably occupied ; moreover, 
they served the interests of the sect by dissemi- 
nating copies of books the circulation of which was 
impeded by the authorities. M. Ustazade retained 
a lively taste for reading all his life, in consequence. 
" A good old book," as he said, consoled him for 
everything. One of our colleagues having become 
rich, by I know not what chance, could hit upon 
but one way of proving his gratitude to him : it 
was, to pay court to his library. He gave him 
Fenelon splendidly bound, so splendidly bound 
that M. de Sacy took me into his confidence in 
regard to it. When he wished to re-read the 
'•' Letter on the works of the Academy " or the 



96 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

" Treatise on the Education of Girls," he borrowed 
the copy belonging to the Mazarin Library, of 
which he was the curator, in order to leave the 

copy which Monsieur B had given him in its 

pristine hue, in its absolute virginity. 

M. Ustazade revised my articles with the great- 
est care. I read them to him, and he made com- 
ments on their style, which have been the best 
lesson in style that I have ever had. As I read, I 
raised my eyes furtively at certain passages to see 
if they passed without difficulty. I always yielded 
when the religious or literary law of this excellent 
master was transgressed. In the matter of a cer- 
tain passage which I had written about the devil, 
he was inflexible, and insisted that in the present 
state of our religious legislation the devil is entitled 
to consideration. He withdrew his objection every 
time that I proved to him that what I had said con- 
tained nothing derogatory to the liberty of person. 
I must confess that, with my theologian's subtlety, 
I invented turns which deluded him. I some- 
times smiled at the heresies which I made him 
countersign. In literature, he was a pure classic; 
he considered Lucretius a bad poet ; he could not 
bear to have the texts to which he was accustomed 
altered, even to improve them ; and he admitted to 
me that when a history like Roman history has 
given rise to very well turned phrases, that history 
ought to be fixed, once for all, against the attacks 
of criticism. 



ERNEST RENAN. 97 

We could not come to an understanding on this 
point ; but he knew French so admirably ! He 
had such an exact sense of the bearing of each 
word ! He corrected so well the juvenile inexpe- 
riences of my manner of writing ! I came to make 
a practice of leaving, in my first copy, a great many 
points upon which I had my doubts, being fully 
resolved to cut them out at the first sign of discon- 
tent on his part. 

The Journal des Debats was a real religion to M. 
Ustazade, and he neglected no means to inculcate 
this upon me. It is to him that I owe the idea, which 
took deep root in me, that one must never leave 
the Journal des Debats for any reason on earth. 
He related terrible stories in this connection. He 
enumerated to me those persons who, in conse- 
quence of some aberration, had abandoned the 
journal, and proved to me that all of them had 
come to a bad end. One had fallen into financial 
errors ; another into social errors ; a third into a 
dangerous opposition ; then all, from error to 
error, had fa.lleri into demagogy, and from dema- 
gogy into misery, which is really death and the 
cessation of life. 

These examples made a great impression on me, 
and from that time forth one of the fundamental 
principles of my life has been — one never leaves 
the Journal des Debats. Arrived now at the end 
of my life, I recognize how entirely right he was, 
and I am anxious to transmit this good doctrine to 



98 kECOLLECTlONS AND LETTERS OF 

those who shall come after me. The friendship 
which 1 find in this excellent establishment is one 
of the joys of my old age — one of the consolations 
of my declining years. 

I am indebted to M. de Sacy also for several of 
the moral precepts which I have always followed. 
In particular, I owe to him the rule never to reply 
to journalistic attacks, not even when they contain 
the greatest atrocities. On this point he agreed 
with the opinion of M. Guizot, that no calumny 
reaches its mark because he disdained them all. 
To the various cases when exception should pos- 
sibly be made, which I suggested to him, he 
replied : '* Never, never, never." I think that I 
have conscientiously followed the advice of my old 
master on this point, as well as on many others. 
One journal published, in facsimile, a pretended 
autograph of mine, of a nature really to overwhelm 
me with ridicule had it been authentic. I said 
nothing, and I did not perceive that it had done me 
any harm. In the same manner I opposed silence 
only to the accounts of conversations.which would 
have lasted a week, and which contained not a 
word of truth ; to recitals of dinners and breakfasts 
furnished by some person who had never received 
so much as a glass of water in my house. I per- 
mitted them to print, without complaint, that I had 
received a million from M. de Rothschild for 
writing my " Life of Jesus." I hereby announce in 
advance that I shall not object when they publish 



ERNEST RENAlSt. 99 

the facsimile of the receipt. M. de Sacy will be 
satisfied with me, as he observes me from the 
height of heaven. Those who require, for the 
apology of their dogma, to make me out a very 
black being, will always find means to furnish 
themselves with arguments. " You will not be 
believed, fair sirs." I am persuaded that the en- 
lightened* men of the future will see the truth 
clearly, so far as I am concerned, in despite of all 
calumnies. And moreover, how indifferent one 
will become to all the errors of literary history in 
the bosom of the Eternal Father ! 

M. de Sacy's counsel was truth itself then. Is 
it so to-day ? The rule which my venerable master 
preached to me was excellent at an epoch when 
there existed an enlightened society which formed 
its opinions in a rational manner. It would be 
dangerous in a democracy. The masses, in fact, 
are naturally credulous ; their first impulse is to 
accept what is told them. Methodical doubt is 
what they comprehend the least. Habituated to 
rough ways, they believe that the insult which is 

* I say enlightened, because the following course of reason- 
ing will, on the other hand, appear very solid to mediocre 
minds. " It is stated by good authors," they will say, " that 
Renan received a. million. His partisans insist that he re- 
ceived nothing at all. The truth probably lies between these 
two extremes. Let us be moderate ; he received several hun- 
dred thousand francs." Decidedly, let us strive to maintain in 
the drama of the world the final epilogue of the valley of 
Jehoshaphat. 



100 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

not replied to is, by that very fact, accepted ; for 
them, some effect is always produced by it. It 
sometimes occurs to me that, at the present moment, 
M. de Sacy would change his opinion. Must re- 
porters, for example, be permitted to attribute to 
you things a thousand miles removed from what 
you really think ? The question is a delicate one ; 
in fact, if you announce that you will make no 
reply, they will make you speak, all the same, after 
their own fashion. M. de Sacy might say that, 
from the point of view of eternity, all this amounts 
to very little ! 

The sentiment with which these intimate rela- 
tions inspired us for each other became a veritable 
friendship. M. de Sacy always defended me, and 
was the principal instigator of my entrance to the 
French Academy. The little speech which he 
made to the company, to set forth what he consid- 
ered to be my claims, was so lively, so frank, so 
natural in style, that many of our colleagues fre- 
quently repeat it to me, and know it by heart. 
" M. Renan," he said, " is a heretic on certain 
points ; I do not deny that. But I should like to 
know who among us is not a bit of a heretic. 
You, M. de Montalembert, do you know that if I 
were inquisitor, I should not be obliged to seek 
very far to find sufficient grounds for burning 
you ? M. de Broglie, is your faith in the supernat- 
ural perfectly in accord with orthodoxy ? M. de 
Falloux, are you a very docile lamb in the fold ? " 



ERNEST RENAN. loi 

And he concluded with these words: " Let us all 
pardon each other, reciprocally, for our heresies." 
I will add here a story which I should not have 
recalled, had not the Princess Mathilde delighted 
to relate it. One day, on going to see him in his 
little house of Eau-bonne, she thought she saw him 
conceal under the table a book which he was read- 
ing. Knowing the princess's liberal spirit, and 
perceiving that her eyes followed the book with a 
certain curiosity, he showed it to her. It was the 
" Life of Jesus." '' Pardon me, princess," he said, 
" I thought it was Madame de Sacy who was enter- 
ing." He confessed that he loved this book, but 
that he only read it on the sly for fear of being 
scolded. 

The sudden death which removed M. Arman 
Bertin, shortly after my connection with the Jour- 
nal began, leaves me but few memories of him. 1 
only saw him once, in his apartment in the Rue de 
L'Universite. He repeated to me what the elder 
M. Bertin was in the habit of saying to beginners 
on the journal : " Write for five hundred people, 
we will take care of the rest." A noble journal, 
analagous in the press to that which the French 
Academy is in literature ; a journal in which highly 
esteemed men could write, and collaboration in 
which was an honor ; such was the programme 
which these eminent men laid out, and which they 
realized, by dint of tact, of knowledge of men, ot 
perseverance and of skill. 



I02 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

M. EdoLiard Berlin had one of the most com- 
plete and just minds that I have ever known. If I 
do not speak at more length concerning him, it is 
because the task has been fulfilled by the man 
whom he loved the most, M. Taine. His intelli- 
gence was rare, his culture of the very highest. 
He sometimes ridiculed a little that taste for an- 
tiquity in everything which M. de Sacy cherished ; 
he smiled at his Jansenism, his classicism. M. 
de Sacy was sensitive to these petty miseries ; he 
confided this to me, aUnost with tears. M. 
Edouard certainly took a broader view of things 
than M. de Sacy. He knew the history of Italian 
art like a scholar. His knowledge of Christian lit- 
erature was surprising. Among laymen, he was 
the best versed in questions of criticism and con- 
troversy that I have ever seen. His incredulity 
was cleverly reasoned out. His skepticism in pol- 
itics was the result of a perfect course of reason- 
ing. , During the siege he was admirable. No illu- 
sion approached him. In spite of his failing 
health, he came to the Journal office every day. 
He listened kindly to the most absurd news ; then, 
leaning toward me, he said : '' I don't believe a 
word of it." His philosophy was curious in search 
of the true, amiable, and resigned. 

Times were very hard indeed for the press, un- 
der the Second Empire. One was obliged to be 
one's own censor ; one endured anguish every 
day. It was then that a considerable change was 



ERNEST REN AN. 103 

effected in the journal. Politics were so little 
open to free discussion that the life they should 
have had passed into the literary and moral arti- 
cles. Intelligent readers looked on the third page 
for that which the first could not say. The miscel- 
laneous items assumed an importance which they 
had never hitherto enjoyed. Down to that epoch, 
the items had beefi anonymous ; they expressed 
the opinion of the journal as a whole. The author 
did not revise the proofs of them. On reading 
them over (it was M. de Sacy who told me this) he 
often experienced strange surprises. Beginning 
with the first years after the coup d'etat, all was 
changed. The miscellaneous items became filled 
with double meanings, one felt in them the per- 
sonal responsibility, the original air of the author. 
The form of them became much more polished ; 
sometimes it was even too much so perhaps ; the 
criticism of books suffered from it. The public 
perused these little scraps attentively, seeking be- 
tween the lines that which the author had not been 
able to say openly. Thus, under the semblance of 
literature, many things which were then forbidden 
were discussed ; the loftiest principles of liberal 
politics were advocated by insin-uation. 

When people possess liberty, and, especially, 
when they begin to abuse it, the services of those 
who have conquered it for them are speedily for- 
gotten. Those who had confessed the faith under 
Diocletian found, under Constantine, that they 



1 04 RE COLL E C TLONS A ND LE 7 ' TER S OF 

were rather neglected. If our dear Prevost- 
Paradol were still alive, I think he would find 
himself the victim of a similar injustice. The 
talent, the passion, the' skill which he dis- 
played in the combat were something extraordi- 
nary. His facility bordered on the miraculous. 
Those exquisite articles were written at the last 
moment, without a. single erasure; the foreman 
clipped up the lines as fast as they were written, 
and Prevost did not see them again. So coura- 
geous, so loyal as he was withal ; his pretended 
conversion to the Empire was not in the least the 
interested caprice that it was asserted to be. His 
death had no significance, either political or moral ; 
it was a material accident, brought about by the 
intense heat of Washington and by the surprise 
which the American regimen of iced alcoholic 
drinks occasioned him. I thought a great deal of 
him, and he thought a great deal of me ; only the 
world loved him better still, and M. Thiers was like 
a shutter which cut off half the sky from him. An 
excellent judge can tell better than I can what this 
rare man was like, and what he would have been 
had it been granted him to see the years which 
followed 1870. 

That is, also, a great injustice which attaches to 
the firm and loyal Laboulaye. He would have 
liked to be Minister and member of the French 
Academy ; he would have made an excellent Min- 
ister, and he possessed more claims to the Academy 



ERNEST REN AN, 105 

than half of those who belong to it. He consoled 
himself by realizing in his life, by dint of a sus- 
tained effort, the ideal of an honest man. I do not 
think that anyone has understood and practiced 
better than Laboulaye the rule of the perfect lib- 
eral. If he ever sinned, it was by too much love 
for liberty ! Oh, what a fine fault, and how sin- 
cerely I pay my compliments to those who have 
never committed any other faults than this ! 

Liberalism was the religion of that excellent 
generation. Their principles were so fixed that, 
on the day after the catastrophe which seemed to 
put them in the wrong, they remained exactly what 
they had been on the day preceding the catas- 
trophe. "I make my sincere confession," said M. 
de Sacy. " I have not changed. Far from having 
been shaken in my convictions, reflection, age, and 
experience have only confirmed me in them. I 
believe in right and justice, as I believed in them 
in my ingenuous youth. This principle of liberty, 
which the times and circumstances have adjourned 
in politics, I am happy to recover in letters, in 
philosophy, in all that belongs to the domain of 
conscience and pure thought. That is what we 
try to do in the Journal des Debats. With differ- 
ences of shades of taste, and of varied opinions, it 
is the spirit which unites us all." 

M. Cuvillier-Fleury might have said that quite as 
well as M. de Sacy. His liberalism never suffered 
any eclipse ; no reaction attacked him. He loved 



io6 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

ardently that which he believed to be true. His 
conversation was animated, he took great pains 
with it, for it was one way of accentuating the con- 
viction which he bore in his heart. Oh ! what a 
good house the Debats was then, and what a 
memory we have preserved of those amiable jousts 
of words, in which M. de Sacy and M. Cuvillier- 
Fleury vied with each other in wit, dash, and 
amiability ! At the Academy the tourney began 
again, inoffensively ; both, in fact, were breaking a 
lance for the same idea ; everything which was 
good, noble, generous, caused their hearts to 
vibrate. 

Their patriotism was as pure as the feelings of a 
child. Above all they saw France ; they believed 
in her, they adored her. Poor France, it is impos- 
sible that she should perish ; she has been too 
much loved ! 

What would happen if I were to recall here M. 
Saint-Marc Girardin, Hippolyte Rigault, Jules 
Janin, Michel Chevalier, Alboury, Philarete Chasles, 
whose portrait will be given elsewhere, by the bye, 
and those valiant colleagues, still living, of whom 
the law of this memorial forbids us to speak ? M. 
Saint-Marc Girardin was a man of great political 
sense. His speech, strong and assured, was 
heightened by a lively and piquant wit ; he intimi- 
dated me a little, as university men in general do. 
They talk too well. One of my manias is to make 
incorrect phrases deliberately, where the accent of 



ERNEST REN AN. 107 

thought bears directly on the incorrectness, which 
renders it prominent. Being accustomed to repri- 
mand it in their scholars, professors do not un- 
derstand this apprehension of talking like a book, 
and consider my conversation overladen and heaped 
up. This dear Hippolyte Rigault was a little of 
that opinion, I imagine. He was a man of rare 
merit. His premature death caused us profound 
sadness. Oral exhibition was so necessary to him 
that he died when it was prohibited to him. 
Through the fault of an unintelligent administra- 
tion of Public Instruction, the serious press and 
higher tuition were deprived of a man of great 
talent. 

Others will explain better than I can the dazzling 
facility of Jules Janin. I admired his sparkling 
fancy ! Nevertheless, I know not why, his brilliant 
atoms never cohered in a durable manner, while a 
sympath'y, mingled with a sort of pity, speedily 
attached me to Philarete Chasles, that extremely 
original spirit, that ' sower of new ideas, who 
certainly deserved to be pardoned for a few slight 
irregularities. People were severe on petty defects ; 
they did not perceive grand qualities. The extreme 
ardor which M. Michel Chevalier brought to bear 
on social questions made people forget, on the other 
hand, all political dissensions. During the first 
half of the Empire, his Saint-Simonian optimism 
often subjected the nerves of poor Prevost-Paradol 
to harsh trials. One day he entered beaming; his 



lo8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

first words were :" I have conquered liberty " 

We were full of anticipations ; we demanded ex- 
planations. It was a question of the liberty of the 
slaughter-house. .... But he really loved prog- 
ress ; everyone admitted that he possessed great 
valor and warmth of heart. 

Thus upholding each other, we traversed gayly 
those melancholy years which elapsed between the 
coup d'etat and the year i860, or thereabouts. A 
better influence then began to come into play. 
Governments, in general, improve with age ; un- 
fortunately, they are not allowed sufficient time. 
The second half of the Empire was far less bad 
than the first. The new government had recom- 
pensed its accomplices and paid its expenses of 
setting up. It was now permissible for it to think 
of the public welfare. The personal character of 
Napoleon III., the very open mind of Prince Napo- 
leon, and of the Princess Mathilde, made them- 
selves felt better than at the epoch when the 
Empire was enduring with difficulty the tutelage 
of its first patrons. One could speak of a liberal 
Empire as of a hope ; a feeble hope, it is true, but 
still preferable to so many other chimerical or fatal 
hypotheses. . The liberal Empire committed one 
unpardonable sin — war ; after all, however, it proba- 
bly granted the greatest amount of liberty that it 
is permitted to realize in France without provok- 
ing excesses ; God, that is to say history, will 
have mercy upon it, The liberal Empire suffered 



ERNEST REN AN. 109 

shipwreck just as all governments in France, for 
the last hundred years, have suffered shipwreck. 
But, in a shipwreck, one does not disdain the 
chicken-coop which presents itself within reach of 
one's hand. One clutches hold of what one can : 
the hour of rescue is not the moment to exhibit 
squeamishness. This is how it happened that 
many of us accepted, in perfect honesty, the latter 
years of that Empire which they did not love, and 
applied themselves to the difficult task of improv- 
ing it. The principle of the Journal des Debats 
is to attach itself to the possible, and to prefer 
modest chances to adventurous investments. We 
accepted the liberal Empire on the same princi- 
ple which has compelled us to accept so many 
other things which we did not like, but which 
forced themselves upon us, through a fear of worse. 
We did well ; I thought so, at least, and to-day I 
think so more than ever. In i860 I consented to 
take part in scientific work, which they were trying 
to restore. In 1869 I made an independent elect- 
oral campaign, in the department of Seine-et- 
Marne, which would have proved successful, had 
it not been for M. Rouher and my own honesty. 

The fault which we were led to commit in this 
instance, if fault there was, it is probable that vi^e 
shall repeat many times still. Every time that we 
behold the dawn of liberty appear we shall salute 
it. Every effort which presents itself as possessing 
a chance of conciliating the opposing demands of 



no RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

politics, we shall support. Whose fault is it if all 
this ends only in disappointments ? The century's, 
not ours. The really constitutional government is 
not improvised ; nations arrive at it when they 
have earned it. Had we a very strong confidence 
in the liberal Empire ? Did we hope that the 
personal power would become — by means of a visi- 
ble transformation, effected before our very eyes — 
that constitutional royalty, the most perfect of 
governments, in which a nation enters into a 
century-long compact with one family, and may, 
at certain hours, concentrate itself in one brain ? 
Oh, no, certainly not ; we hoped little ; govern- 
ments sprung from adventures are strong in the 
evil which they do ; when they begin to do good, 
they are weak ; but success was not impossible, 
after all. That which, on the contrary, presented 
itself as wholly improbable, was authority proceed- 
ing from universal suffrage, respect created by riot, 
order emerging from anarchy. 

Have the events which followed been of a nature 
to make us repent of having, in 1868 and 1869, 
gone to meet a defeat which was half foreseen ? 
We ask that people shall have the kindness to wait 
twenty years before blaming us. If, between this 
day and that, a constitutional government shall 
have succeeded in founding itself, without running 
off the rails of legality, we will confess that we 
should have shown ourselves more difficult to 
please toward the close of the Second Empire. 



ERI^EST REN AN. lit 

In the contrary case, we must be pardoned for 
having believed that coups d'etat and revolutions 
are the worst expedients of politics ; that one must 
make the most of what one has, even when what 
one has is rather defective. 



LETTER TO M. BERTHELOT, MINISTER. 

Paris, December 31, 1886. 

My Dear Friend : I wish to pass the last hours 
of this year with you. While you are enduring the 
review of official congratulations, I desire to return 
to the dreams which we formed forty years ago, 
when we knew each other in a little boarding- 
house of the Faubourg Saint Jacques, when you 
were eighteen years of age, and I was twenty-two. 

Certainly, if you had been Minister then, we 
should have reformed the world, It would not 
have lasted, probably. We have learned, as we 
grew older, that the patriarch Jacob was a genu- 
inely wise man in thinking that the pace of the 
last little lamb which has just been born should 
regulate the march of the whole flock. 

Many things, in fact, change in the course of 
forty years, and yet, at the bottom, man and hu- 
manity change very little. I remember that, dur- 
ing the hour which we passed together, we read, 
one day, the story of that hermit of the Thebaid, 
who had retired into the desert in his youth, and 



112 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

passed years there without setting eyes on a hu- 
man being. In his old age, on receiving a visit 
from a monk who came from the valley of the 
Nile, he was seized with an impulse of curiosity : 
" Tell me," he said to his fellow-recluse, " if men 
are still the same. Do they still seek to acquire 
property ? Do they still invent calumnies against 
each other ? Do they build houses as though they 
were to live two hundred years ? Do they still 
marry ? " The visitor replied that few things were 
changed ; and the hermit marveled that man was 
so incurably the dupe of universal vanity. 

We think that a capital element for the posses- 
sion of the true philosophy of life was lacking in 
those recluses of the desert — that is, knowledge of 
the world. It seems to us of the utmost impor- 
tance that one should know that the earth is a ball, 
about three thousand leagues in diameter, that the 
sun is thirty-eight million leagues from the earth, 
and that it is one million four hundred thousand 
times larger than the earth, and a thousand other 
pieces of information which form part of element- 
ary instruction. And, nevertheless, the recluse 
was right, in his own way. The gravest incidents 
in human affairs have no more importance, when 
one places one's self at the point of view of the solar 
system, than the movements in a wasp's nest, or 
the hurrying to and fro that goes on in an ant-hill. 
When one places one's self at the point of view of 
the solar system, our revolutions possess hardly 



ERNEST REMAN, I13 

the amplitude of the movements of atoms. From 
the point of view of Sirius, they have still less. 
From the point of view of the infinite, they have 
none at all. This is the only point of view from 
which one can judge well of things in their verity. 
In my " Souvenirs d'Enfance " I have quoted the 
saying of the old Superior of Saint Sulpice, M. 
Duclos, to whom a seminary pupil, in the troubled 
years which followed 1830, was relating, with 
terror, the doings in I know not what stormy ses- 
sion of the Chamber of Deputies. The young 
man was particularly struck by a speech of M. 
Mauguin, which seemed to him the prelude to the 
end of the world. Those bold, irritating Deputies 
of the Opposition produced on these peaceful 
ascetics the effect of downright demons. *' One 
sees plainly, my friend," replied M. Duclos tran- 
quilly, *' that those men say no prayers." In fact, 
I cannot very well imagine M. Clemenceau saying 
his prayers ; M. Laguerre, who is so young, so 

dreamy, so charming, perhaps The prayer of 

M. Rochefort seems to me to belong to the sort 
which the fathers of spiritual life term ejaculatory; 
that stern fighter is not yet quite undeceived as to 
the reality of things. M. Tony Revillon also does 
not strike me as having arrived at the Bud- 
dhistic soiitra of the concatenation of effects, and 
of the complete inanity of appearances. But one 
must not take fright too hastily. M. Mauguin's 
speech did not make the world crumble to pieces. 



114 RECOLLECTIOl^S AND LETTERS OF 

The world dies hard. It is a toy with which one 
can play for a long time without breaking it. 

Our dear director of the Debats, in memory of 
the pretty New Year's gifts which M. Laboulaye 
used to make to the subscribers of the Journal, 
asked me last year for a dream which should 
please everybody, not a very solid dream, perhaps; 
good at the most for New Year's day. It was not 
an easy task. The present time is hardly that for 
dreams. The sky is gloomy ; the Eternal some- 
times has the air of being disgusted with his crea- 
tion, of finding it tiresome and a failure. That it 
certainly is not. I find it, as I grow old, more as- 
tonishing than ever. But it is certain that men 
are too much divided. That which enchants some 
throws others into consternation. I believe that 
we shall never behold our fellow-men agreed again 
on any subject whatever. In order to bring them 
into accord, one must deceive them ; and neither 
you nor I, my dear friend, will undertake that 
task. 

Last year, in order to obtain from heaven the 
credit of a smile, I applied to the angel Gabriel, 
and thought myself authorized to impart to the 
readers of the Journal des Debats, in his name, that 
a change in the government of this world was im- 
pending. The disappointment was so great that I 
have declined to interrogate the celestial messenger 
this year. You are Minister ; that is an event upon 
which I congratulate the Eternal openly. With this 



ERNEST REN AN. 1 15 

exception, it is not possible to be more completely 
mistaken than I was in my predictions. I had an- 
nounced great things and new things ; I had said 
that the unexpected must be expected, and, in 
point of fact, the state of the world on this 3Tst 
of December differs as little from the state of 
the world on the 1st of last January as one puddle 
differs from another puddle, or one drop of water 
from another drop of water. The grand resolution 
which I had assumed that the Eternal would im- 
pose upon his functionaries to be just, exact, at- 
tentive, has had no results. A frightful negligence 
seems to reign forever in the offices where the fate 
of 'the world is regulated. The celestial policy 
which was announced as about to become very 
definite, has been more obscure, more circumspect 
than ever. This is wise, no doubt ; but hereafter 
I shall not meddle with prophecies ! Great 
heavens ! how did the ancient prophets manage 
never to make a mistake ? 

In default of the secrets of the angel Gabriel, I 
have thought of asking counsel from the gods of 
India. They are very good gods, whom one adores 
by dreaming, and who occasionally give us admi- 
rable lessons in the art of being all things to all 
men. The life of Krishna, in particular, is full of 
good examples which if one could imitate them, 
would restore to this century that which it no longer 
possesses — joy, sympathy, concord. 

When Krishna arrived, beaming with youth and 



110 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OE 

beauty, in the meadows of Bradj, all the shepherd- 
esses fell madly in love with him. Krishna, being 
amiability in person, wished to s.atisfy all of them. 
As a god, he possessed the gift of miracles, and 
of the most astounding of miracles, the multipli- 
cation of himself. Thanks to this supernatural 
gift, he divided himself into as many Krishnas as 
there were shepherdesses. He danced with all; all 
were convinced, at least, that he had danced with 
them. From that moment forth, they believed 
themselves to be privileged persons. They pre- 
served all their life the precious memory of the 
divine passage, like a seal of divinity, which con- 
secrated them priestesses of a superhuman ideal. 
The admirable point about this miracle of 
Krishna was this : nothing more simple than that 
all the shepherdesses should have been persuaded 
that they had danced with Krishna. That favor 
would have possessed but a mediocre value in 
their eyes ; for woman does not prize a gift which 
she shares with others. But, through a sentiment 
of infinite delicacy, such as a god may feel, Krishna 
made each one of the shepherdesses think that he 
had danced with her alone. Love is egotistical ; it 
is easily deceived. The beloved being guards his 
secret for himself ; he wishes to believe that he 
alone is loved. Each of the shepherdesses took to 
contemplating her treasure. Secreium meum iniJii 
— My secret belongs to me. She believed that she 
had had no co-sharer in the ideal, that the 



ERNEST RENAN. H? 

great god, at the moment of his amorous 
manifestation, had existed only for her. Oh ! how 
pure, pious, and discreet did this thought render 
them ! They were saints. Believing that they 
alone had possessed the saint, they remained, all 
their life, completely satisfied, and lived solely on 
the contemplation of the god whom they had 
clasped in their arms to the exclusion of every 
other. 

Krishna was not the only one to practice this 
miracle of goodness. Buddha, also, understood 
on occasion to give himself to all, and to make all 
believe that he had belonged to each individual 
only. 

When Buddha came into the world, ten thou- 
sand of the handsomest women in India came to 
offer themselves to serve as his nurses. He 
perceived the grief of those who would be rejected, 
and perhaps the evil sentiment- of jealousy which 
they would experience. He multiplied himself into 
ten thousand little Buddhas. Each woman held 
him in her arms, nourished him with her milk, 
covered him with kisses, and most miraculous of 
all ! believed that she alone had nursed him and 
embraced him. Buddhism was the exclusive work 
of each and everyone of them ; it was their milk 
which had formed the divine body. 

Buddha repeated the same prodigy several 
times. One day, as he was traversing a burning 
plain, millions of devas and genii flew to spread a 



Ii8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

parasol over his head. The saint multiplied him- 
self into as many Buddhas as there were parasols, 
in order that all might have the satisfaction of be- 
lieving that their good will had been accepted. 

It is said, also, that when he found himself on the 
bank of an impassable river, kindly beings built him, 
instantly, numerous bridges. The Saint multiplied 
himself according to the number of bridges, and 
each one of those who had made them believed 
that the god had passed over his, to the exclusion 
of the others ; and all were happy ; there were no 
jealous persons. 

Those ancient gods understood better than it is 
understood nowadays, how to extract from human 
nature all the enthusiasm and devotion which it 
contains. They understood how to spoil people. 
Each person could believe that the world existed 
only for him ; and everybody else around him 
believed the same thing. Has not Christianity also 
its multiplication of the divine ? 

Sumit umis, sujnunt mille, 
Qtiantiim isii, tanhun ille; 
Nee sumpttts constiviitur.^ 

These, my dear friend, are tales that I fancy you 
can relate to your colleagues, in some interval of 
repose between the sessions of the Council. I have 
often thought, in fact, that they have a certain polit- 

* One eats, a thousand eat, it is in proportion to the people ; 
yet the food is not consumed — referring to the sacred elements 
in the mass. 



ERNEST RENAN. 119 

ical bearing. Krishna dancing with all the shep- 
herdesses, and each shepherdess imagining that he 
thought only of her — is that not a masterpiece of 
policy to propose as a model to those who govern 
men? Men wish to think that everything is done 
for them and by them. Each one is quite willing to 
sacrifice himself to the ideal, but on condition of hav- 
ing made the ideal himself. The great cleverness 
of the chief of the situation consists in dancing 
with all, and in making all believe that he has 
danced with each one alone, does it not ? And, in 
crises, is it not important to allow those who pre- 
sent themselves as saviors to suppose that one has 
effected one's retreat by passing over the bridge 
which they have erected ? 

The miracle of the multiplication of one's self is 
reserved for the gods. But, for inferior natures, 
which are very numerous, and who care very little 
for the mystic body of Krishna, there is a god who is 
infinitely divisible, and who is never consumed. It 
is the budget. Each person wishes to have his 
share of its favors, with the assurance that it will 
never be consumed. 

Siunit tuius, swnuntmille, 
Nee sumptus eonsiimihir. 

The master-stroke would" be, possibly, to have 
all the Deputies members of the commission on the 
budget, and that each one should imagine that he 

had made the budget himself Would it be 

possible to bring that about? .... 



I20 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

For us, adorers in spirit, always occupied, in 
accordance with the Brahmanic formula, in " con- 
centrating our mind on Krishna," the Hindoo 
miracle retains all its truth. The ideal loses 
nothing by division ; it is contained entire in each 
of its parts. AVe live on particles of Krishna, 
which we assimilate according to our genius. The 
ideal, for all people, is separated into as many 
morsels as there are tastes, modified according to 
the character of each. Each creates his own 
divine dancer. There is, in fact, a refinement 
which I would introduce into the legend of 
Krishna, if I should ever attempt to make of it a 
drama, or, to express it more accurately, a philo- 
sophical ballet. At the same time that all the 
shepherdesses believe that they have danced with 
Krishna, it would turn out that, in reality, they 
have danced with different Krishnas. Each one 
would have made her Krishna after her own 
fashion, and when they came to describe their 
celestial lover to each other, it would appear that 
their dreams bore no resemblance whatever to each 
other, and nevertheless it would always be Krishna. 

This is the problem which must be solved on 
New Year's Day, at least : to provide everyone 
with a dream, in which each one shall find his 
Krishna ; to fabricate for all a little god, which 
each" one shall caress in spirit. For one, this will 
be the most perfect of republics ; for another, the 
niost perfect of monarchies. Assuredly, the policy 



ERNEST REN AN, 121 

some day will be to give to every man the prince 
whom he loves, the woman of whom he dreams, 
the faith which he desires. Do not you think, 
nevertheless, that it would be good if this New 
Year's policy would be encroached on a little the 
rest of the twelve months ? 

In a year, if I live, if you are Minister, and if the 
world lasts, I will resume this mediation with you. 
The good side of our philosophy is that it pre- 
pares one well for eternity. Those who are 
acquainted with you know how little you care for 
everything which does not concern your country 
and the truth. For my own part, I gladly accept 
the premonitions of a speedy end, provided that it 
be fine. The most important work of each one of 
us is his death ; we execute this masterpiece, in 
the midst of gehennas, and with the quarter of our 
means. If I die within the year, I beg persons of 
good taste, who are still numerous, not to believe 
many of the things that will be said about me. I 
have not been perfect ; but my life has always had 
an objective, disinterested aim. I have been a 
very virtuous man ; to that fact I owe the charm 
of my old age, and a certain freshness of imagina- 
tion, which makes me take more and more pleasure 
in godly creatures. 

How ungrateful I should be, did I complain of 
my lot ! For four-and-sixty years, I shall have 
contemplated the most wonderful of spectacles, the 
universe. It is less long than the ancient paradise, 



122 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

but much more amusing. I have contemplated 
this spectacle from a tolerably good seat, with 
elbow-rests and footstools to my taste. I have 
^seen the v/orld at one of the most interesting 
moments of its development. The point at which 
I have been placed, to enjoy this astonishing dis- 
play of fireworks, has been excellent. 

The planet Earth is unrivaled as a spot from 
v/hich to enjoy the universe. It is small ; but it 
produces alert and subtle minds. It has had 
Galileo, Newton, Laplace. The atmosphere which 
surrounds it is perfectly clear. AVe are sure that, 
between us and the most distant stars, there is no 
opaque body, no screen. Truly, no one in the 
universe is to be pitied, save those people who 
inhabit planets where the atmosphere is simply 
translucid, which does not deprive them of light, 
but which does deprive them of the view of in- 
finity. Ah ! those poor inhabitants of Venus ! . . . 
I understand well how they must rebel ! How 
that milky atmosphere in which they live must 
limit their horizon ! How thoroughly they must 
believe that the world was made for them ! What 
narrow-minded people they must be ! But the 
iiihabitants of the Earth ! The infinite is open to 
them. How can one grow weary with that ? And 
then, what games ! what festivals ! I am persuaded 
that the beings whom the breath of God has caused 
to blossom out on the planet Earth, are the privi- 
leged of the universe. 



ERNEST REN AN. 123 

For my own part, I am content. I have believed, 
in my day, that 1 had danced with Krishna — an 
illusion perhaps! — I have built bridges for gods 
in distress ; I have held the parasol over the head 
of Buddha. Long life to the Eternal ! the light 
is good. Farewell, my friend, until next year, if it 
pleases God. 



A WORD ON THE EXPOSITION. LETTER TO 
M. JULES LEMAITRE. 

Paris, May 9, 1889. 
Dear Friend : Certainly I should have been 
glad to respond to the invitation contained in your 
note of day before yesterday morning. But what 
Christ said is true of me : Spiritus quidem promptus 
est; caro vera infirma — The spirit, indeed, is willing, 
but the flesh is weak. A recurrence of my habitual 
ailments has prevented me, so far, from seeing that 
dear Exposition, which I bless, since it seems to 
introduce into human affairs a little joy, oblivion, 
cordiality, and sympathy, I viewed the prepara- 
tions for it, a few weeks ago, from the heights of 
the Trocadero* it produced upon me the effect of 
the Villa Adriana, of one of those festivals of the 
time of Adrian, which were brilliant, a trifle com- 
posite, eclectic to excess, but which we love like 
the last smiles of a dying world. Even supposing 
that the Exposition of 1889 should be the last 



124 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

occasion which men will have to assemble for the 
purpose of giving themselves up to gayety and to 
amuse themselves with follies, this melancholy 
thought is not of a nature to render it less poetical 
and less suggestive to us. 

And then, after all, who knows the future ? You 
suppose me to be more pessimistic than I am. 
Yes, I am alarmed at beholding so grandiose a 
tradition as that of French royalty handed over to 
a sovereign so narrow-minded, so giddy, so acces- 
sible to calumny, so easily surprised, as the people 
represented by universal suffrage. I do not deny 
that the present moment has its advantages and 
its sweetness. Liberty is greater than it ever has 
been before in our country, perhaps than in any 
country in the world. The exaggerated criticisms 
which are addressed to the present form of govern- 
ment proceed from minds who do not know the 
past, and who have no idea of what that future, 
which they conjure, would bring. Provided only 
that it may last ! . . . . That is the only reserve 
that we make in our contentment. If it were a 
question merely of our own fragile persons, we 
should have the right to be improvident, adven- 
turous, daring. But it is a question of France, of 
her existence, of her destiny. On the back of that 
page of the Temps, where I saw these consoling 
descriptions of the festivals, that fine speech of 
M. Carnot, I read, under the heading ''Saint- 
Ouen": 



ERJ^ES r kENA N. 1 25 

Monsieur General Boulanger 1043 Elected. 

" Naquet, Boulangist 981 Elected. 

" Laguerre, Boulangist 981 Elected. 

" Deroulede, Boulangist 979 Elected. 

Several persons to whom I have remarked upon 
it have told me that Saint-Ouen is not a very en- 
lightened locality. That is possible ; but I fear 
that there are, in France, a multitude of cantons 
which, in politics at least, are not much more en- 
lightened than Saint-Ouen. 

That is why I cannot help, at times, perceiving 
between the rays of this beautiful setting sun a 
gloomy cloud, fringed with gold, whence there 
might easily emerge a Roc which would carry off 
everything. Let us continue to place our hope in 
reason, and believe in my sincere friendship. 



THE EIGHTEENTH CENTENARY OF POMPEII. 
LETTER TO THE DIRECTOR OF THE 
"JOURNAL DES DEBATS." 

Sorrento, September 26, 1879. 
Sir and Dear Director : You desire me to relate, 
in a few words, what the Commission of Italian An- 
tiquities has done to commemorate the hundredth 
anniversary of an event lugubrious in itself, but 
which has had, for science, consequences without 
an equal. The Italian commission had too much 



126 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE7"rERS OF 

taste to celebrate as a festival a catastrophe which 
cost the lives of hundreds of persons as intelligent, 
as civilized as ourselves ; what it wished was a sci- 
entific assembly, a memorial addressed to the past, 
a pilgrimage for those who love antiquity. It has 
been perfectly successful ; the solemnity to which 
we were invited was cold and wearisome for the 
loungers who came to seek a diversion on the ashes 
of the dead ; in the eyes of cultivated people, it 
was managed with infinite good sense and tact. 

In the autumn of the year 79 occurred one of the 
most extraordinary events in the history of the 
globe. An old volcano, entirely extinct, covered 
with thickets and wild vines, and whose crater had 
served as a refuge for the desperate soldiers of 
Spartacus, burst forth with an energy of which we 
possess no example in historic times, buried four 
or five cities at its feet, and created that powerful 
center of eruptive activity which lasts even in our ^ 
day, and seems to have come and planted itself 
in the suburbs of a great city in order to allow 
itself to be studied at ease. Chance has decreed 
that we should owe the description of the phenom- 
enon to the pen of the best writer of that epoch : 

" It was on the ninth of the calends of September 
[?], toward the seventh hour ; my uncle com- 
manded the fleet at Misenum, when my grand- 
mother came and announced to me that a cloud of 
unwonted size and form was rising on the horizon. 
At the first moment, it was impossible for us to tell 



ERNEST REMAN. I27 

from what mountain it proceeded ; later on, we 
learned that it was from Vesuvius. In order to 
describe the form and appearance of the cloud, I- 
see but one comparison ; it is that of a gigantic 
pine tree spreading out into branches at the ex- 
tremity of an inordinately long trunk. In fact, 
carried by the force of the original projection, the 
uplifted matter mounted perpendicularly -at first ; 
then, as the current which sustained it vanished, 
little by little, weight resumed its rights, and the 
whole flattened out into a mass that was sometimes 
whitish, sometimes somber and spotted with black. 
The horrible cyclone, rent by the sinuous furrows 
and the vibrating flashes of the lightning, as though 
it bore in its flames an igneous life, opened and 
presented to view in its interior all the fantastic 
play of a tempest of fire ; there were lightnings, 
but lightnings greater than had ever been beheld 
before. Soon the cloud descended, covered the 
sea, enveloped Capri, hid it completely, and con- 
cealed from sight the jutting point of Misenum. 
Next the ashes came, rare at first, then like a tor- 
rent invading the earth. The obscurity was com- 
parable, I will not say to that of the, darkest night, 
but to which one feels in a closed place, when the 
light is suddenly extinguished. On all sides were 
heard roars, the cries of people calling to each 
other, and seeking to recognize each other by their 
voices. Some, through fear of death, invoked 
death ; miany raised their hands to the gods ; 



128 RECOLLEC TIONS AND LE TTERS OF 

Others said that there were no longer any gods, 
and saw in what was happening the realization of 
the prophecies which predict for the earth an eter- 
nal night as its latter end. ' Misenum has crum- 
bled away,' said some ; ' it is on fire,' said others. 
All this was false, but people believed it. A faint 
gleam appearing, they did not take it as a sign 
that the light was returning, but as an indication 
of the arrival of fire. The fire did not approach 
us, in reality ; the darkness descended once more ; 
the ashes fell again, dense and heavy. We were 
obliged to rise every moment and shake it off ; 
otherwise, we should speedily have been covered 
and crushed by its weight. Little by little the 
darkness lightened ; the sun appeared, pale as on 
a day of eclipse. Troubled clouds floated before 
our eyes. The world seemed to have changed its 
face ; the land was clothed in a thick layer of 
ashes, which covered everything, like snow." 

Everyone knows how the antique land, thus 
buried, has been for the last hundred and fifty 
years a mine of priceless discoveries for archae- 
ology. This matter of cities placed in reserve, 
after a manner, by a natural occurrence, for the 
use of future archaeologists, seems to me almost 
unique in the world, and I know of nothing, except 
Velliea, near Placentia, interred by the fall of a 
mountain, which can be compared to the cities at 
the foot of Vesuvius. The frightful catastrophe, 
which took place eighteen hundred years ago, has, 



ERNEST REN AN. 1 29 

consequently, been a bit of unparalleled good for- 
tune for the study of antiquity, especialjy since a 
really methodical management has been applied to 
the excavations. The first researches were more 
prejudicial than useful to the city itself, being un- 
dertaken solely with a view to enriching museums. 
They destroyed in order to find ; they covered up 
the fragments which were not transportable ; they 
dug here and there, without continuity, according as 
they fancied they caught a glimpse of indications 
of good finds. The glory of having introduced 
method belongs to M. Fiorelli, who was the first to 
think that the most curious thing resulting from 
the excavations at Pompeii was Pompeii itself. In 
the place of holes and subterranean galleries dug 
at haphazard, isolated parcels were cleared ; the 
most ingenious precautions were employed to assure 
the preservation of monuments upon their original 
site: The result of these fine researches was an 
ancient city, under the open sky, where one can 
walk, where one finds fresh, as if of yesterday, the 
impression of the voluptuous existence led by the 
Romans who loved the '' Greek life," during the 
first century of our era. 

Sorrento is a spot of such perfect repose that 1 
hesitated, at first, to quit it, to pass a hot day, at 
the close of summer, under the blazing sun, in the 
middle of a crowd and dust. From my win- 
dows, I have before my eyes the great actor in the 
drama of 79, Vesuvius, which does not seem to 



13° RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

have exhaled his wrath seriously since then ; I see 
Pompeii and the green stretches of the Sarno ; I 
see the little Isle of Hercules in front of the 
ancient port of Pompeii, an incontrovertible sign 
of Phoenician counting-houses in these parts. 
Hence I thought of celebrating, from my chamber, 
by reading Pliny's two letters, the strange event 
of the year 79 ; then ideas of a more active 
philgFsophy carried the day ; my young friend, 
Maurice Paleologus, undertook all the arrange- 
ments, and we set out, at seven o'clock in the 
morning, to join the reunion of enlightened men 
who had assembled on that day upon the ruins of 
the demolished city. 

I had come to Sorrento by sea, a few days 
before, and I had not yet enjoyed the incompara- 
ble sight presented by the road which unites that 
town to Castellamare. I have been accustomed to 
say, hitherto, that, in the zone of our planet — very 
limited, alas ! — which I have traversed, the route 
from Vietri to Amalfi is the most beautiful thing I 
know. Well ! now I hesitate. The sight of the 
point of Meta, that of Vico, are equal to the most 
admirable thing that can be imagined in the shape 
of smiling, amiable nature, completed, finished by 
man, in proportion with himself. The well dis- 
tributed waters of the Sarno have given to the 
plain which separates the pile of Sorrento from 
Vesuvius a fertility which justifies what the 
ancients have told us of the beautiful vegetation in 



ERNEST REN AN. 1^1 

the neighborhood of Pompeii. Many learned men 
have believed that this plain is a conquest which 
the eruption of 79, by a sort of compensation, 
presented to the ancient shore. But M. Ruggiero 
has peremptorily refuted this hypothesis ; he has 
demonstrated that the aggrandizements of the con- 
tinent have been very inconsiderable, in this di- 
rection, and have nothing to do with the eruption 
of 79. 

We arrived about ten o'clock, when the authori- 
ties were taking their seats. There I found Min- 
ervini, Fiorelli, those brilliant continuers of the 
great archaeological school of Naples, and with 
them, Bernabei, Salinas, de Petra, those active 
disciples, who are reaping their inheritance so well. 
The programme of the celebration was composed 
of three parts : first, a speech by M. Ruggiero, 
who has so worthily replaced M. Fiorelli in the 
management of the excavations ; next, a visit to 
the monuments ; then an excavation executed 
before the eyes of the public on ground prepared 
for it. We directed our steps to the basilica where 
M, Ruggiero was to deliver his speech, and took 
seats in the inclosure. It was decorated with 
extreme simplicity ; not a flag, no band of music, 
not even a bust of Pliny ! I confess that I rather 
regretted the absence of this la'st. The martyrs of 
science should be honored. 

M. Ruggiero had begun the history of the 
strange phenomenon, the centenary of which had 



132 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

brought us together, without affected phrases, 
without declamation, when an incident which was 
not set down on the programme caused a momen- 
tary smile. The gates of Pompeii had been so 
liberally thrown open that day, that no one could 
answer for the good sense of all the persons pres- 
ent. A crazy man found means to climb a column 
and there begin a declamation, which overwhelmed 
M. Ruggiero's voice for a moment. Universal 
suffrage did not exhibit itself in an entirely favora- 
ble light on this occasion ; the madman's speech 
was received with tolerably vigorous applause. I 
cannot say whether the applause was well bestowed. 
His discourse has not been printed, like that of 
M. Ruggiero. Here is a trace of inequality, which 
I point out to high-flown levelers as abusive. Ine- 
quality in the eye of the press still exists, perhaps 
it will be reduced to order one of these days ; in 
any case, privilege carried the day on this occa- 
sion ; for, at the end of a few minutes M. Rug- 
giero had the field entirely to himself. 

While order was being gradually restored, and 
we were exchanging various comments among our- 
selves as to the political and social bearing of this 
incident, I heard a genuine siren's voice behind 
me ; it was that of M. Palizzi, director of the school 
of Fine Arts at Naples, a charming man as well 
as an excellent artist, with whom I had made 
most agreeable excursions in the environs of 
Ischia. With him I found five or six friends who 



ERNEST REN AN. 1 33 

had been my companions on those excursions, and 
whose conversations had still further embellished 
those beautiful places, were that possible. " We 
cannot hear very well," said Palizzi, ''and then the 
madman will begin again. Those people are 
never discouraged. Come with us." At the same 
time, he shows me a key, which I took, at first, for 
an ancient object recently discovered. 

" This key is modern," he said to me ; " but it 
will open the only house in Pompeii which has a 
lock, and that is no small advantage among these 
8000 persons. It is an antique house, which has 
been supplied with a roof and a door for the artist 
of merit who is present at the excavations and 
takes a rapid sketch of all the paintings which are 
discovered, with the true colors of the first mo- 
ments." '' An excellent precaution," I said to 
him. " How many Egyptian discoveries pass from 
existence the day after their being brought to 
light, and perish forever ! " '' Yes, come," he 
said. '' We will first go and pay our respects to 
the poor people who died eighteen hundred years 
ago ; then we will go to rest and breakfast in the 
house of the painter. Come ; Ruggiero's speech 
is printed ; you shall read it this evening with a 
tranquil brain, and the madman will no longer be 
there." 

I yielded to this very amiable invitation ; the 
truth is that M. Palizzi furnished me with one of 
the most striking sights that I have ever beheld. 



134 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The whole crowd was massed around the basilica, 
and produced by its vivid colors, among those walls 
of ashen hues, a strange contrast. The remainder 
of the city was deserted and presented that aspect 
of melancholy which is so peculiar to Pompeii on 
ordinary occasions. We visited in particular that 
street of Tombs, one of the most poetical places in 
the world ; we sat down on those hospitable seals 
which the dead offers to the living as though to 
counsel him to repose — oh ! what good counsel 
the dead give ! We were on our way to salute 
the spot, at the gate of the city, where was found 
the soldier, victim to his duty, when one of our 
companions stopped us abruptly: "Everything is 
changed," he said; "that little nook is no longer, 
as has been thought, a sentry-box ; people have 
been greatly in the wrong in insisting upon seeing, 
in the body which was found there, the remains of 
a sentinel who perished at his post, accepting the 
evident danger of being suffocated rather than flee. 
This man did not deserve the honors which have 
been paid to him ; perhaps he was a thief." This 
made us thoughtful. What ! Even after death, a 
hero of duty can be confounded with a thief, ac- 
cording to the caprices of archaeology ! the body 
of a thief can usurp, for years, in consequence of 
the error of antiquarians, the honors due to heroes ! 
How very necessary is a Last Judgment to revise 
all this! But even in that, what errors are pos- 
sible ! What precautions will be required ! This 



ERNES7' RENAN. 135 

reminds me of the unhappy wretch who was taken 
for Billioray, on the 25th of May, 187 1, and shot 
near the Invalides ; then the real Billioray was 
merely condemned to deportation. Ah ! the jus- 
tice of this world ! We beheld once more that 
strange museum, formed of the plaster casts of the 
human bodies found in the ashes ! The flesh hav- 
ing been consumed, molds and good channels 
were left, into which plaster could be poured, so 
that the rigorously exact cast of the unfortunate 
Pompeians, as they expired, was obtained. Noth- 
ing could be more striking. The young girl who 
presses her bosom against the earth, as though to 
embrace it, with her arms folded, presents the pur- 
est forms and the most touching attitude. A dog, 
a fine greyhound, writhes, with head held between 
his legs ; he was fastened at the door' of a house; 
as the inundation of volcanic cinders rose, he rose 
also, but his cord soon stopped him. M. Ruggiero 
has brought to the study of these difficult Pom- 
peian questions, admirable patience and method. 
He has resolutely discarded the hypothesis of 
water, and the hypothesis of fire. Undeniable 
facts establish that Pompeii was not drowned in a 
torrent of liquid mud, as has been asserted. The 
invading matter did not penetrate inclosed spaces. 
The oven, in which was found bread in the process 
of baking, was perfectly clean and empty inside, 
with its eighty-oile little loaves ; and it was only 
partially closed. A well, the opening to which was 



136 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

preserved from the invasion of the volcanic cinders, 
was not filled up; the water gushes up there, 
at the present day, at a depth of twenty-five 
meters. 

The system of conflagration is not admissible 
either — Pompeii did not perish by fire. The lead is 
not melted, the marbles are not calcined, bits of 
cloth and of wood adhere to metal, and are not 
carbonized ; the mural paintings are exempt from 
the action of fire and of smoke. Some facts, which 
seem to lead to a contrary deduction, are ex- 
plained, either by the fall of incandescent scoriae, 
or by lightning, the action of which is pro- 
duced with extraordinary violence around orifices 
of eruption. In reality, Pompeii was covered, in a 
few hours, with a layer of volcanic cinders and 
ashes equivalent, with the cumulative action of the 
rain, to seven or eight meters. Almost all the in- 
habitants, to the number of 12,000, were able to 
make their escape ; about 500 lingered and per- 
ished. The rain of volcanic cinders preceded that 
of ashes ; they could preserve themselves from the 
former, by barricading themselves in cellars and 
enclosed places. This explains the imprudence of 
the 500 unfortunates. They awaited the end of 
the shower of fine stones ; they did not count on 
the shower of ashes which suffocated them. Events 
took place very nearly as in 1872 ; only, on this 
last occasion, the shower of ashes was much more 
feeble, and people were merely put to the incon- 



ERNEST KENAN. 137 

venience of using umbrellas in the streets of 
Naples. 

Meanwhile, M. Palizzi led us gradually to the 
agreeable nook which he had prepared for us. The 
heat was very powerful, the shadow of the old 
walls was very narrow ; we finally arrived at the 
threshold of our desires. M. Palizzi preceded us, 
key in hand. Oh, surprise ! the little house was 
occupied . . . occupied by an excellent company, 
moreover — ladies, who were engaged in partaking 
of a frugal repast. We looked at Palizzi ; Palizzi 
looked at us. What was the value of that key on 
which we had founded our hopes? We applied to 
the corporal who stood near by ; we explained the 
case to him, he reflected at length : " There must 
be two keys," said he. This hypothesis was no 
more probable than those which are sometimes 
hazarded on the subject of Pompeian problems ; 
we did not contradict it, but we remained con- 
vinced that the modern door, which did not adapt 
itself well to the ancient framework, had been 
forced. Naturally, we pretended to be happy at 
having been anticipated, and, after taking precau- 
tions that the incident should not be repeated, we 
set off to pay another visit to the houses called 
the house of Diomed, the house of Sallust, and 
those of the Vestals and the Dancing Girls. Then 
we found well-earned repose in the tiny house 
which our discreet predecessors had finally va- 
cated. M. Palizzi explained to me the results of 



13S RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

the long sojourn which he had made on the ruins 
of Pompeii, and, in particular, his observations on 
the streets and ways. He pointed out to me the 
extremely unequal pavements of the streets, and 
how this state corresponded exactly with the limits 
of the houses, so that the conclusion which must 
be drawn from it was that the pavements fell 
among the obligations of the proprietors abutting 
on them. 

I was examining attentively the interesting paint- 
ings, the experiments in restoring ancient houses, 
which covered the walls, when the unforeseen made 
its entry once more, in the person of a porter, carry- 
ing a bale corded with the utmost care and cleverly 
concealing its contents. The idea had been, no 
doubt, to turn aside the eyes of desire of such 
people as should behold the mysterious basket on 
its passage, and it had been given the appearance 
which an archaeological package might assume. 

It was the breakfast prepared by our friends — an 
exquisite breakfast, if ever there was one — and 
which reminded me of the collation which we had 
found all ready, when we were making the tour of 
Ischia, in the desert bay of Monte-Santangelo. 
At Pompeii it was the best wines of France that 
these gentlemen gave us to drink ; we preferred 
to them that asprino, which the common people 
buy for two sous, but which is not to be found in 
the hotels which respect themselves, and a wine of 
the Abruzzi prepared in French fashion, whigl) 



ERNEST REN AN. 139 

seemed to me to have a fine future before it. My 
young friend Maurice was enchanted ; he was un- 
dergoing his apprenticeship in Italian cordiality, 
and had not reached his twentieth experience, as 
I had. 

I made the remark that it was, perhaps, impious 
to breakfast so well in the house of the dead, but 
some one replied : 

" That happened a long time ago ; and, after 
all, are they greatly to be pitied ? They would be 
dead, all the same, and see how people talk of 
them, and occupy their minds with them. Do not 
you think that the Egyptians who were sacrificed 
in the construction of the Pyramids live to-day far 
more than those who paddled out the normal sum 
of their years in the mud of the Nile ? The insect 
pinned to a card in the museum, and which, by its 
beautiful coloring, evokes a cry of admiration 
from a pretty mouth, the animal which serves for 
the demonstrations of science, are privileged above 
their fellows, who remain obscure." 

Palizzi did not approve of this paradox, and 
justified our little feast in another way. 

" Have you not noticed," he said to me, ''in the 
street of Tombs, those semicircular benches, ar- 
ranged expressly in the form of scholae, so that 
the country-people might come thither to rest, 
chat, and discuss ? It is an amiable idea of the 
dead man to offer to his survivors an agreeable 
moment, and^ above all, that good counsel, to 






I40 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

relish the honest joys of Hfe without imagining 
that they will last forever. And do not you think 
that the funeral feast was a pious act in its own 
way?" "Certainly," I replied, "and among those 
of our ancestors who preserved longest their bar- 
barous customs, this repast was bound to extend 
even to drunkenness, to bloody battles. The same 
thing still exists in Ireland ; in Brittany, also, 
people would think that they were lacking in 
respect for the dead did they return from the 
funeral in full possession of their reason." 

I was on the point of continuing when a move- 
ment arose in the street. It was the result of the 
excavations which was being brought to the central 
office. "What !" said I. " Have the excavations 
been made in our absence ! Can you imagine our 
remaining idle, when they were at work ? " My 
companions smiled. " What do you suppose ex- 
cavations made in the presence of eight thousand 
persons amount to ? There is nothing serious 
about them ; no one but the prefect of Naples can 
have taken much interest in them." We followed 
the three or four flat boxes, bearing the arms of 
the King of Italy, which contained the objects 
found. Ah ! good Heavens ! What a result ! 
There was hardly anything in the boxes but the 
bones of dead people. Well ! On thinking it 
over I came to the decision that this was full of 
tact. This result proved the honesty and scientific 
seriousness pf the directors of the festival. It 



ERNEST RENAN. ' 141 

would have been so easy to prepare some dis- 
covery in honor of the public, who expected some- 
thing of the sort ! M. Ruggiero had denied him- 
self this innocent bit of trickery ; the pickaxes 
brought up only kitchen utensils, broken pots, and 
a very considerable number of skulls and thigh 
bones. It is evident that the house investigated 
was one of those where the people tarried longest. 
Those poor pagans suggested to me many reflec- 
tions. One of the fundamental principles of my 
life, a principle to which I cling obstinately, al- 
though many of my friends declare it an enormous 
cheat, is to consider as an honest man every human 
creature of whom the contrary has not been dem- 
onstrated to me. Consequently, I saluted these 
poor remains, and I wafted a kiss of peace to the 
honest people to whom they had belonged. There 
are persons who profess exactly the contrary doc- 
trine, and persist, more or less, in regarding every- 
one who has not been proved to them to be an 
honest man, as a rogue. Good Heavens ! I think 
that they are as cften deceived as I am, and I 
persist in believing that, if one bears in mind the 
innumerable difficulties of the human state, general 
benevolence is true justice. Among the dead, 
whose bones lay there before my eyes, there were, 
perhaps, resigned slaves, faithful servants, the 
wounded of life who had arrived at irony, which is, 
also, after its fashion, a species of wisdom. That 
skull yonder is, perhaps, that of the bitter scoffer 



142 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

who drew a little ass on the wall and wrote below 
it : " Labora, bone asello, sicut ego laboravi, et 
proderit tibi, sicut mihi prodest."* I have not the 
" Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum " of Berlin at 
hand to verify the text. ]\I. Zangmeister and my 
dear colleague Leon Renier must pardon me if I 
have made any mistake. 

I saw with pleasure an inscription traced on a 
column of the forum, of which M. Fiorelli sent a 
stamp to the commission of the " Corpus Inscrip- 
tionum Semiticarum " a few years ago. This stamp 
then seemed to- us absolutely inexplicable, and we 
classed it, provisorily, in the category of unknown 
inscriptions. But the fine publication of the in- 
scriptions of Safa, near Damascus, made by Messrs. 
Waddington and de Vogtie, has illuminated the 
Pompeian.text in a striking manner. 

These inscriptions, the deciphering of which is 
the work of M. Joseph Halevy, are genuine Arabic 
inscriptions of the Roman epoch. The graffito of 
Pompeii belongs indubitably to this group. It is 
not in the least surprising to find an Arab writing 
his name on a column at Pompeii, since, about the 
same time, some Nabataeans of Petra left at Pouz- 
zoles so many marks of their passage, and in par- 
ticular two fine inscriptions in Nabatsean characters. 

It was at this moment that I made the acquaint- 
ance with a fine volume which was to be distributed 

* Labor, good little ass, as I have labored, and it shall 
profit you as it has profited me, 



_ ^^A 



ERNEST RENAN. 143 

on the morrow, and which will remain as the record 
of this scientific solemnity.* It is composed of a 
series of memorials on the problems raised by 
buried cities. Therein M. Ruggiero and his col- 
laborators set forth, with the authority which be- 
longs to them alone, the new views at which they 
have arrived, as to the history of the great phe- 
nomenon of 79. Here again my philosophy was 
subjected to some trials, for one of M. Ruggiero's 
best established results, is that the eruption, 
according to all probability, occurred on the 23d 
of November. Pliny's text leaves room for doubt, 
but a multitude of details observed by M. Rug- 
giero seem to prove that the event took place to- 
wards the close of autumn. The vintage had been 
finished, and the operations which follow it must 
have been far advanced ; the amphorae, in general, 
are not found in the cellars ; they are in the do- 
mestic offices, in the kitchens ; they were at work on 
them ; they were putting into them the pitch and 
resin, the ordinary condiment of ancient wine. 
M. Ruggiero draws the same deduction from the 
fruits which are found, and those which are not 
found, in Pompeii. This ran somewhat contrary to 
my impressions, and I mentioned the matter to one 
of my friends. '' All days are alike," he said. 
" How many anniversaries you have disarranged 
or suppressed in your books ! Does that prevent 

* Pompei e la Regione Sotterrata dal Vesuvio nel anno Ixxix. 
Naples, tip. Gianni, in-4, 291-245 pages, avec planches. 



144 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

people continuing to celebrate the festivals on the 
same day as usual ? Books and the ways of the 
world have nothing to do with each other."* 

But the day was already declining, the railway 
station at Pompeii was filled with people, the lo- 
comotives set out on their return to Naples. We 
cast a glance at the king of the festival, Vesuvius, 
who had been too much forgotten. Vesuvius is in 
a state of great activity at the present moment ; 
the immenseness of the crater, which vomits smoke 
at its full capacity, is nowhere to be measured 
so well as from Pompeii. Seen through the street 
of Mercury, the old giant showed himself really 
grandiose, mythological ; there he stood, proud, dis- 
dainful, content with his work, quite ready to be- 
gin it all over again. The aspects of Vesuvius, 
studied by the hour, as one can study them from 
Sorrento, are the spectacle which gives the best 
idea of the mythological conceptions of the 
ancients. The somewhat human attitude of the 
gaping monster, the very diverse and always plas- 
tic aspects presented by the plume of smoke, ac- 
cording to the direction of the wind and the time 
of day, give the idea of a living being, which has 
rages, has passions of his own. One can conceive 
that the Greeks and the Italiotes should have 
addressed prayers and sacrifices to these capri- 
cious and irritable beings, in order to placate them; 
one can conceive how the Jew beholds in them an 
agent of the wrathful Jehovah. I meditated, in 



ERNEST RENAN, 145 

particular, on the Apocalypse, and on the extraor- 
dinary amount of space occupied in the book of 
Enoch, and in almost all the Sibylline prophecies, 
by the volcanic accidents of the Bay of Naples. 
The great phenomena of eruptions and earthquakes 
of the first and second centuries of our era are the 
onl}^ ones of the sort which have exercised an in- 
fluence on the history of thoughtful humanity. 
They troubled people's imaginations, and, in com- 
bination with the ideas of the Jews as to an ap- 
proaching end of the world, they produced that 
idea of a conflagration in which the ancient world 
was to perish because of its crimes. Judicare secu- 
lum per igneiti — The world is to be judged by fire. 
Dangerous words, which must not be too often re- 
peated I For by dint of repeating a thing too 
much, one inspires people, sometimes, with the idea 
of realizing it. 

We returned to Sorrento at a fresh and delicious 
time of the day, finding the places charming which 
we had regarded quite otherwise under a different 
illumination at eight o'clock in the morning. My 
young companion performed nearly the whole of 
the journey on foot, climbing up the slopes, escalad- 
ing the rocks to enjoy the admirable yiew. Ar- 
rived at Sorrento we triumphed over those who had 
been afraid of the crowd, the dust, and the official 
ceremonies. There had not been a trace of dust in 
Pompeii ; the official part had been reduced, with 
perfect tact, to its just measure, and, as for the 



146 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

crowd, thanks to M. Palizzi, we had only had a 
distant glimpse of that. Our triumph was complete 
when we began to extol the asprino ; everyone 
desired co taste it ; we ordered some ; there was 
none in the hotel, and I even think that our order 
brought down upon us a certain amount of dis- 
credit. 



THE PORTRAITS OF SAINT PAUL. LETTER TO 
M. MEZIERES OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY. 

Paris, April 8, 1879. 
My very dear Colleague : On reading this morn- 
ing in the Journal des Debats the charming words 
in which you bade me welcome into the company, 
I was still more touched than I had been on Thurs- 
day, by so many tokens of friendship, and by the 
share which you are so kind as to take in the re- 
ligion of my dearest memories. Our disagreements 
are a trifling matter ; for I subscribe heartily to 
what you say regarding the respect of the religious 
conscience ; I fear as much as you the advent of a 
brutal force, void of ideal beliefs ; I sometimes 
reproach myself for not liking to dwell in the 
middle regions of literature, and as for Marcus 
Aurelius and Faustina, I abandon them, since you 
wish it, although it is impossible for me not to be 
struck, on beholding the most pious of men, in his 
most intimate converse with the divinity, associate 



ERNEST RENAM. 147 

Faustina with the noblest persons whom he has 
known — with his mother and sister. This proves 
that, ol the two hypotheses proposed by Capitoli- 
nus — Vel nesciit, vel dissimulavit — Either he did not 
know, or he concealed it — the second is impossible. 
But what matters it, since all the world agrees that 
Faustina was a charming woman, and since Marcus 
Aurelius remains the author of the '' Thoughts," 
that is to say, of the most exquisite book that 
heathen antiquity has bequeathed to us ? 

I do care a little about the ugliness of Saint 
Paul, for I would not like to seem to have carica- 
tured him, on any consideration. I certainly 
should have done that, had I been the author of 
the portrait which you quote as coming from me. 
On page 170 of my " Apostles," I have mentioned 
the texts on which I based my statements. No 
doubt, you have thought them lacking in solidity ; 
permit me to submit to you a few observations 
whence it will appear, I think, that this portrait is 
the exact reproduction of the manner in which the 
disciples and admirers of Paul conceived his image 
about a hundred years after his death. 

The phrase which you cite is, in fact, in great 
part borrowed from the third paragraph of the cele- 
brated " Acts " of Paul and of Thecla,* 6. Tertul- 
lian, in his treatise on " Baptism," chapter 17, gives 
us the most interesting details concerning the 
origin of this book. He relates that this pretty 

* Tischendorf, "Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha," p. 41. 



14^ RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

romance was the work of a priest from Asia, a very 
great zealot on the subject of Paul's glory. Being 
pressed with questions as to the sources whence he 
had drawn these beautiful narratives, the priest, 
driven to the wall, acknowledged that he had com- 
posed the book himself " out of the great love 
which he had for Paul." Convictwn atque co}ifessmn 
id se amove Pauli fecisse. This is charming, is it 
not ? What a flash of light this remark casts upon 
the manner in which veracious history was under- 
stood ! To attribute to a great and revered per- 
sonage noble adventures, speeches which were 
supposed to be sublime, far from passing for a 
culpable imposture, was a meritorious act. They 
gloried in it, and assumed that the personage whom 
they had taken for their subject ought to feel him- 
self highly honored. But is it in consequence of 
this same sentiment that one could be led to 
attribute to one's hero a small head, a long nose, 
eyebrows which met in the middle of his forehead, 
and bandy legs ? I do not think so. Convictum 
atque confessum id se amove Pauli fecisse. One can 
never believe that it was out of love for Paul that 
the priest from Asia invented this portrait. I 
incline rather to think that the Asian priest ex- 
pressed himself thus because there existed a tra- 
ditional image of the great apostle which he 
contented himself with reproducing. Assuredly, 
the " Acts " of Paul and Thecla contain fabulous 
things, although quite recently our learned col- 



ERNEST RENAN. 149 

league, M. Le Blant, who is a great authority in 
Christian antiquities, has pointed out its historical 
authority in many respects, and its value in the 
matter of local color.* That which appears certain, 
at the least, is, that having occasion to trace the 
type of the apostle, the author cannot have done it 
contrary to the generally received ideas. One 
cannot imagine that in writing a book destined, in 
his opinion, to glorify Paul, he should have pre- 
sented the latter with features almost ridiculous, 
and contrary, at the same time, to the image of him 
which people held. 

At what date was this romance composed, this 
romance so full of grace and tenderness, probably 
the most ancient of all Christian romances, which, 
if it were translated to-day by a clever man, would 
probably have, in the pious as well as in profane 
circles, for opposite reasons, the greatest success? 
Tertullian wrote his treatise on ** Baptism " about 
the year 196 ; it is certainly one of his first works. 
At that date the " Acts " of Thetla enjoyed great 
authority in certain Christian churches. Tertullian 
combats this authority, and informs us that the 
priest of Asia, the author of the book, was already 
dead, when he wrote. We are not too bold, there- 
fore, in referring the date of the composition of 
this book to the year 175 or 180. Paul died a little 
before the year 70. The author was toward St. 

* In the Annulaire de V Association des Etudes Grecquesy for 
the year 1877, 



150 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Paul, therefore, in the same situation, as regards 
time, that we are in now toward Voltaire. 

Certainly, it is possible that the text of the 
"Acts" of Thecla, which has been published by 
Grabe and by Tischendorf, differs in many respects 
from that which TertuUian had in view ; but this 
text is, in any case, very ancient. Tischendorf 
and Grabe are persuaded that it is the identical 
work of the Asian priest, slightly altered. 

That which decided me, moreover, to give the 
passage from the "Acts " of Thecla a place in my 
narrative, is the astonishing coincidence of the 
queer portrait sketched by the priest of Asia with 
one of the most entertaining passages of the 
dialogue entitled " Philopatris." You are ac- 
quainted with this amusing little work, preserved 
among the \vritings]of Lucian, but which certainly 
did not belong to the scoffer of Samosata. The 
" Philopatris " is dated with great precision. It is 
from the reign of the Emperor Julian, and even 
from the end of this reign, about the year 363, at 
the time when the unhappy emperor was already 
engaged in his fatal war with the Persians. It is 
the work of an enemy of Christianity, solely intent 
on representing the new believers as chimerical 
dreamers and enemies of the Roman state. 

" Formerly," says the Christian Triephon, "I 

nourished myself with the same doctrines as thou, 

up to the moment when I had the good fortune to 

encounter a certain Galilean* with a bald forehea4 

*Q^alilean is used in the sense of Christian, 



ERNEST RE NAN. 15 1 

and a long nose, who had ascended to the third 
heaven, and who had learned the most beautiful 
things there. That man regenerated us by water, 
and rending us away from the world of the un- 
godly introduced us into the company of the 
saints."* There can be no doubt that the question 
here is of Saint Paul ; the ecstasy in the third 
heaven does not admit of hesitation. It is hardly 
probable that the pagan author of the '' Philo- 
patris" had read the romance of Thecla. If he 
agrees with the priest from Asia, it is because he 
was acquainted with the traditional type which the 
Christians attributed to Saint Paul. This tradition 
is not to be disdained ; you are not ignorant of 
M. de Rossi's fine writings on the portraits of the 
apostles Peter and Paul ; he has fully established, 
if not their value as real portraits, at least their 
high antiquity. When I see the coincidence of 
these respectable images with the texts, I really 
cannot believe that I have given too free play to 
the imagination by following such old indications. 
The Byzantine historians present precisely the 
same description of Saint Paul's features. I will 
cite, in particular, Saint Nicephorusf and John 
Malala.J These authors add several features to 
those of the "Acts" of Thecla and of the " Philo- 
patris," evidently derived from the portraits which 
they had before their eyes. Now, my dear col- 

t" Philopatris," chapter 12. f Hist-Eccl., ii, 37. 

iChronogr,, p. 257, edit. Bonn, 



1 5 2 RECOLLECTIONS A ND LE TTERS OF 

league, you who have resided in Athens, and who 
are so well acquainted with the Eastern Church, 
know better than anyone the force of tradition 
in the religious paintings of the Greeks, and how 
invariably each saint's type is there established. 

The most extraordinary point is, that after hav- 
ing sketched the portrait of St. Paul, as I have 
done, Nicephorus, Malala, and even the author of 
the " Acts," to a certain extent, insist that Paul was 
handsome, in spite of it all. How can we explain 
this singular contradiction ? In my opinion, by the 
force of tradition, which imposed itself upon those 
who would have the most desired that the face of 
the apostle to the Gentiles should correspond to 
the importance of his supernatural role. They 
affirmed his beauty a priori^ although fidelity to 
tradition compelled them to transcribe certain 
traits which, more or less, gave the lie in the most 
startling manner to this affirmation. 

One capital reason, finally, forbids us to neglect 
such testimony ; it is, that it answers perfectly to 
the idea that Saint Paul himself gives us of his per- 
sonal appearance, and of his temperament in the 
two epistles to the Corinthians, that is to say, in 
writings whose authenticity is absolutely undeni- 
able. The apostle informs us that his appearance 
was fragile, and not in the least imposing. The 
frivolous Corinthians openly gave the preference 
over him to preachers better endowed in respect 
to the exterior, like Apollos. "His letters are 



ERNEST REN AN. 153 

weighty and powerful," they said, " but his bodily 
presence is weak, and his speech contemptible."* 
Paul makes constant allusion to his bodily weak- 
ness ; he represents himself as a man who has only 
a breath, ill, exhausted, and timid withal, without 
fine appearance, with nothing which produces an 
effect, so that his disciples, according to him, are 
meritorious because they are not deterred by such 
a wretched exterior. Neither did his speech pos- 
sess any charm. A certain timorousness, embar- 
rassment, inaccuracy, gave, at first, a poor idea of 
his eloquence. Like a man of tact, he himself laid 
stress on his external defects, and made capital out 
of them, with great cleverness. 

Paul's temperament, according to his own testi- 
mony, was no less singular that his exterior. His 
constitution — evidently very tough, since it endured 
a life composed entirely of fatigues — was not 
sound. He speaks mysteriously of a secret trial, 
" of a thorn in the flesh," which he compares to an 
angel of Satan, occupied in buffeting him, and 
whom God has permitted to attach himself to him, 
to prevent his growing proud. Volumes have been 
written on this little point, or rather, on that thorn 
in Paul's flesh {Skolops en sarki). It was certainly 
an infirmity ; Paul forbids us to understand it as 
carnal lust, since he himself informs us that he was 
not very accessible to that sort of temptation. 
For two months, I meditated on that passage ; 
that thorn in the flesh seemed to me the exact 

* II Corinthians, x, 10. 



154 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

definition of rheumatism, a^real angel of Satan, who 
does, in fact, buffet cruelly the patient who is deliv- 
ered over to him by way of salutary humiliation. 

You see, then, my dear colleague, that if I have 
gone astray in the matter of the likeness which 1 
have traced of Saint Paul, it is much less through 
abuse of imiagination than through confidence in 
tradition. I recognize the fact that this tradition 
d )es not constitute absolute certainty ; it is certain 
that a good photograph would be worth more. In 
spite of the doubts which cling to it, it seemed to 
me, nevertheless, that such statements should not 
be passed over in silence. Tradition, legend, even, 
cannot be entirely banished from serious history ; 
they contain their share of truth ; they show, if not 
how things took place, at least how they were 
thought of. I employ the most scrupulous forms 
of language, in order to distinguish that which is 
certain from that which is probable, that which is 
possible. But I consider myself authorized to 
accord the probable and the possible a place, on 
the condition, of course, of multiplying tYit perhaps 
and // see7ns to me, and the other phrases expressive 
of doubt, of which one must not be sparing on 
such a subject. That which I never do is- to add 
a material circumstance to the texts, a detail to 
the pictures of manners, a stroke to the landscapes. 
I understand the general effects in my own way ; I 
never introduce into them an element which has 
not been furnished me. Origins are always ob- 



ERNEST REN AN. 155 

scure ; in order to divine the effaced pages of the 
old histories, one requires a power of divination 
into which there enters a personal element. It is 
almost impossible to know exactly how things have 
taken place ; the goal which criticism sets up for 
itself, is to rediscover the manner, or the various 
manners, in which they might have happened. 
But the assumption of material circumstances not 
supplied by the texts would be a proceeding fruit- 
less and unworthy of the historian ; I never employ 
it. 

I desired, my dear colleague, to clear myself 
from the charge of having made Saint Paul ugly. 
That great man, who set so little store by a fine ap- 
pearance for himself, since he tells us more than 
half a score of times that he possessed the least 
possible external advantages, would not be offended 
with me for so small a matter ; but in the portrait, 
which you quote as coming from me, there would 
be an intention to caricature, and that I must dis- 
pel. I should have need of the intercession of the 
saints. A good Capuchin, who read the article 
which I published, a few years ago, in the Journal 
des Debats^ about Saint Francis d'Assisi, was de- 
lighted with it, and, from that day forth, when he 
heard people speak ill of me, he said : " Oh ! no 
doubt . . . . ; but he spoke well of Francis 
d'Assisi, Saint Francis d'Assisi will save him." 
That is a powerful intercession ; I hope that Saint 
Paul will add his to it, in consideration of the 



15^ RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

trouble which I have taken, not to represent him as 
a handsome man, but to show him as one of the 
strongest and most extraordinary souls that have 
ever existed. 

Believe, my dear colleague, in my most sincere 
friendship. 



REPLY TO THE SPEECH OF RECEPTION 
INTO THE FRENCH ACADEMY OF M. JULES 
CLARETIE, FEBRUARY 21, 1 889. 

Sir : It is more than a quarter of a century 
since we met, for the first time, at M. Michelet's. 
The hospitable place, the affection which attached 
us to the master, and a rare community of senti- 
ments, united us. You were in all the fire of your 
first revolutionary ardors ; I was under the influ- 
ence of the inward conversations which I had 
held in the East, like the disciples of Emmaus, 
with a mysterious wayfarer. We came to an under- 
standing with considerable promptness. Shall I 
confess it to you ? I believe that, during those 
first conversations, we said some evil of the 
French Academy. Oh ! the Academy, sir, is infi- 
nitely indulgent about the evil that is said of it. 
Coarse insults do not reach it ; it accepts the 
gentle reproaches of men of talent as marks of 
love, and it takes good note of them for its future 
favors. Certainly, there is one point upon which 



ERMEST REMAIN. 157 

we were perfectly right ; it was when we expressed 
our regret that the company did not count among 
its members the exquisite master, the charming 
historian, who consoled us in our sadness of those 
days ! But what would you have ! A literary 
company infallible ! We should almost be afraid 
of it. Academies make no pretension to possess- 
ing the rule of absolute justice. It is sufficient if 
they are right sometimes. Room must be left 
for unforeseen unions, for the witty freaks of 
chance, for amiable encounters, in fine, like that 
which has brought us together in this place to-day — 
you, entered as a volunteer in the free band of 
literature of twenty years ago, to take the place of 
conservator in this senate — I, a mistaken but ob- 
stinate disciple of Saint Tudal or Saint Corentin,to 
wish you welcome, and to press your hand in the 
name of an old friendship. 

I wa^ sure that I should please you, sir, by re- 
turning with you to these memories of the time 
when, as Petrarch says, we were, in part, other 
men than we are to-day. The best mark of nobil- 
ity, as you said a while ago, is to love each other 
as we were in our youth, to remain faithful to the 
illusions athwart which we first discovered life. I 
do not think that we have changed much ; we are 
still incorrigible idealists. I see you trait for trait 
as you were then. Enthusiasm was the dominant 
character of your nature, and if those uneventful 
years, in the middle of the Second Empire, had 



15 S RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

permitted hazardous protestations, I think that 
you would have thrown yourself valiantly into the 
breach. Revolution was like a gulf w^iich sum- 
moned you. Your sentiments were all for that 
instinctive devotion, for that manner of toying 
with death, which lends an irresistible attraction to 
the characters of the Revolution. Your history of 
" Prairial " is a genuine martyrology. You have 
unfolded, one by one, in the " Archives," those 
pages penned by your- heroes on their last nights ; 
you have kept beneath your eye the dagger which 
killed Romme, Bourbotte, Soubrany ; like the dea- 
con in the times of persecution, you show us the 
red phial and the bloody handkerchief. " Claretie's 
book," said M. Michelet, '' has made me shudder. 
It is so burning, so cruelly true ! " You have gone 
through all our fevers, sir, you have tasted all our 
fits of madness. But, what shows well the solidity 
of your judgment, you have returned frorfi your 
journey to the country of death without leaving 
behind any part of yourself, you have traversed the 
chaos without ever losing your footing. 

Since that time you have marched from success 
to success. After having traversed all the circles 
of hell, 5-ou have contrived to smile so naturally 
that people have believed that you have done noth- 
ing else all your life. Your mind, at once both 
supple and firm, capable of becoming passionate 
and of dominating its passion, was very promptly 
approved of by the public, which has applauded you 



ERNEST REN AN. 159 

at the theater, followed you with favor in history 
and romance, read. eagerly those weekly chats — a 
new style of article which you so ably defined a 
while ago, and which has, to some extent, super- 
seded the ancient French form of correspondence. 
The most important organs of public opinion have 
made it a point to confide to you their chronicles 
of the day, those rapid judgments of a referee, 
which class a case, define it, frame it, while leaving 
to the future the care of taking it up again and dis- 
cussing it. It is in this department, sir, that you 
have shown yourself to be in direct line with this 
century. This dear nineteenth century, the future 
will say a great deal of evil concerning it ; people 
will be unjust if they do not recognize the fact that 
it was charming. Such it appears in your pictures ; 
it constituted one oi my relaxations to read you, 
when you were writing those beautiful'pages. Even 
when, by profession, one has chosen the company 
of the dead, the light of the sun is sweet. This 
Parisian life may seem superficial, at times, I con- 
fess ; but it offers an admirable procession of 
pleasant images. It is a good furnace to consume 
that surplus of life which philosophy and science 
do not absorb. A considerable part of humanity 
lives on the chronicle of Paris. The world will 
lose something on the day when it no longer has it. 
Your romances in book form have added fresh 
touches to that great romance without an end 
which, for years, you have unraveled day by day. 



l6o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Your episode of the love affairs of the patient at 
La Salpetriere is exquisite. The " Million " is a de- 
licious novel, with the suavest perfume. The "Flag," 
''M.Michelet's Cane," breathe a touching patriotism. 
" Monsieur le Ministre " has raised a smile at cer- 
tain weaknesses which a false prudery often affects 
to take tragically. Politics have touched you with- 
out stifling you. The Comedie Frangaise and its 
interests, which are inseparable from those of the 
French mind, have prospered in your hands. When 
you sought our votes, assuredly your merits were 
sufficient to obtain them ; you desire, nevertheless, 
that the public should know that your nomination 
contained an amiable salute from our company 
to the society of excellent artists which is charged, 
like ourselves, with watching over the national 
language and taste. May the Comedie Frangaise, 
which is represented here in virtue of a right that 
we shall take great care not to forget, be so good 
as to accept the expression of an ancient fellow- 
ship which makes us proud and happy. 

In choosing you to take the place of one of our 
colleagues whom we have loved the most, we were 
sure, in advance, that you would trace a perfect 
image of him. You have completely fulfilled our 
expectations. M„ Cuvillier-Fleury, in the pages 
which you have just read, is precisely as we knew 
him, with his brisk ways of an upright man, his 
faith in healthy literature, his confidence in rea- 
son and good cultivation of the mind, his absolute 



ERNEST REN AM. i6i 

devotion to France, a devotion which permitted 
the most loyal of* patriots to consider nothing for- 
eign which the country has desired and admitted. 
You have eulogized the educator in the best 
manner — I mean by his pupils — by one of his 
pupils in particular, by that accomplished colleague 
whom exile has taken from us, and whom we regret 
so keenly not to see among us to-day, to join with 
us in the praises bestowed upon his master. You 
have eulogized the undaunted liberal, who was 
shaken by no reaction, who always remained faith- 
ful to that ideal of respect for the right, of benevo- 
lence and of uprightness, which France has raised 
in the world as the creed of the honest man. You 
have painted all this in excellent outlines ; for, if 
you have not been intimately acquainted with our 
colleague, you possessed, in regard to him, the 
most perfect documents, the living confidences of 
a discreet witness of his trials and his joys. The 
best part of a beautiful life is that which is contin- 
ued in the memories of a faithful wife. You have 
known our colleague in that sweet prolongation 
of existence, which is granted to those who are 
worthy of it. He has appeared to you, surrounded 
by that tranquil light which precedes the grand 
oblivion of the second death ; thence proceed the 
delicate shades which give to your portrait so much 
harmony, those traits of profound resemblance 
which has charmed us so greatly. 

The Journal des Debats had erected a rostrum 



i62 RECOLLECTIONS AMD LETTERS OF 

which was surrounded by an extraordinary audi- 
ence, and whence each word f^ll with authority. 
The anonymousness of a group of men, which 
parity of talents and similarity of opinions merged, 
so to speak, into a single person, had come to con- 
stitute a political and social power of whose im- 
portance we can now form an idea only with 
difficulty. The Messrs. Bertin presided, with the 
tact and moderation which an undisputed title 
confers, over the debates of that supreme court 
of the French mind which realized, to a small 
extent in journalism, what the Academy is in 
literature. M. Cuvillier-Fleury was, for the space 
of fifty years, one of the most active members 
of that exalted council of Dii Consentes.^ His 
criticism, a perpetual lesson of good sense and up- 
rightness, was extended to extremely varied sub- 
jects. It was rightly considered, then, that the rule 
of the good and of the beautiful is, in all points, 
identical, and that a mind fornied by the good dis- 
cipline of antiquity may serve in the most diverse 
exercises. 

Nearly the entire century passed thus before 
the eyes of our colleague, and "he judged it well. 
Whatever may be the opinion which people may 
one day profess regarding the literary movement 

* In the Etrusco-Romish language of religion, the Dii Co7i- 
sentes were the twelve superior deities (six male, six female) 
who formed the common council of the gods assembled by 
Jupiter. — Trans, notes. 



ERl^EST kENA^. 163 

of which the year 1815 may be regarded as 
the initial date, and 1870 as the final date, no 
enlightened man can refuse to that which was 
in agitation during that period, in the depths of 
the French conscience, originality, goodness, and 
fecundity. The stock of ideas bequeathed by 
the eighteenth century and the Revolution was 
insufficient. A slender thread of clear voice may 
possess agreeable notes, but it will not suffice for 
all the modulations of the human spirit. In rid- 
ding itself of the chains of old beliefs, which 
easily degenerate into a deliberate choice of intel- 
lectual mediocrity, the eighteenth century imposed 
upon itself a far more burdensome chain than that 
of orthodoxy — the yoke of a sort of narrow good 
sense, reducing the world of the mind to something 
scanty, petty, coldly rational. Science had been 
released from the restrictions which religion caused 
to weigh it down, until nearly the eve of the Revo- 
lution, and that is, surely, a point of capital im- 
portance ; but a sort of dryness of heart and im- 
agination rendered this progress hardly perceptible, 
on the whole. People were free to think, and, as 
a matter of fact, they thought very little ; the im- 
mensity of the events of war and of the political 
revolutions had absorbed the best forces of hu- 
manity. The world longed for something, and in 
fact, as soon as peace appeared, and under the in- 
fluence of the name alone of liberty, an extraordi- 
nary awakening took place in all classes. People 



164 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

opened their minds to foreign ideas ; a multitude 
of things which had hitherto had no names in 
French, asserted their right of entry into the 
inclosed field of our battles and gained a great 
deal by being transferred to this fresh atmos- 
phere. People comprehended the infinite, the 
popular, the spontaneous. The language gained 
in suppleness, in extent, in shading. Humanity 
took to reflecting, more harshly than it had ever 
done before, on its destiny. We do not know 
whether all the problems which that period pro- 
pounded have been solved ; but, assuredly, history 
will refer to the first half of our century immense 
conquests in the order of the mind, a general sen- 
timent of courtesy, of gentleness, of taste for lib- 
erty, an extraordinary enlargement of the circle of 
the imagination, a notion of science, of philoso- 
phy and of poetry of which our respectable ancest- 
ors in the eighteen century possessed only a very 
distant sentiment. 

M. Cuvillier-Fleury assisted in this grand intel- 
lectual battle of criticism, and in the quality of a 
combatant. You have explained to us finely the 
species of duality which always divided the liter- 
ary conscience of our colleague. Although the 
base of his classic faith was never shaken, he was 
powerfully attracted by the moderns. At bottom, 
he had a weakness for that which he combated 
and a secret taste for the qualities which he did 
not commend. Dulcia vitia ! — charming defects — 



ERNEST RENAN. 165 

the expression is Quintilian's. It might have 
come from M. Cuvillier-Fleury. He blamed and 
loved at one and the same time. He has been 
shown to us as wittily taking a certain book from 
the hands of his pupil and perusing it himself with 
passionate delight. He never departed from the 
rules of judgment and naturalness, and, neverthe- 
less, they contained some of those " charming de- 
fects " which he was forced to love. Was it weak- 
ness ? No, it was impartiality, profound instinct 
for the truth. Almost all the faults of the nine- 
teenth century have come from a lofty principle. 
We are sure that posterity will pass the sponge 
over many deviations from the right path, at the 
memory of so much ardor, so much sincerity, so 
many noble aspirations. 

How can one be just, in fact, otherwise than by 
loving and hating, turn and turn about, that brilliant 
generation which received with a light hand and 
bore without embarrassment the heavy heritage of 
ancient France, of the Revolution, of the Empire, 
but which was not able to transmit anything to 
those who came after it ; which caused the value of 
finished form to be felt in literature, and left but 
few irreproachable works ; which instituted a re- 
action against a general tone of factitious pom- 
pousness and of exaggerated solemnity, and was, 
itself, rarely exempt from affectation ; which, 
with a wealth, an exuberance, an amplitude of 
genius which were tjruly extraordinary, produced 



1 66 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

thousands of excellent books, not one of which is 
quite sure of a future ? The cause of this lies, 
above all, I hasten to say, in the infinitely delicate 
nature of the thoughts which we seek to express. 
The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, revolv- 
ing in a very limited circle of ideas, denying them- 
selves every thought which could not be contained 
in the ready-made frame, more easily attained to a 
finished style than a century like ours, which is 
surcharged with knowledge and is persuaded that 
the human mind is being restricted when it is con- 
fined to clear -ideas. There are so many things 
which we can only augur, divine, presage ! The 
defects of the moderns frequently arise from the 
fact that, in a hand to hand struggle with the in- 
finite, they wish to say too many things. But how 
many other weaknesses these great innovators, 
whose disciples we are, might have avoided ! The 
good epochs of Greek and Latin antiquity, the 
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, had accus- 
tomed us, when it was a question of intellectual 
works, to seek naturalness before all things ; peo- 
ple wished to touch a man in the author ; modesty 
was considered one of the conditions of pleasing. 
All that was changed by the new generation. The 
pain, often necessary, which a delicate soul often 
accomplishes at the beginning of life, only with 
fear and trembling, was called, by a frightful bar- 
barism, "asserting one's self." People were satis- 
fied with sonorous words, which the great centuries 



ERNEST RENAN. 167 

had employed with much discretion. Unbridled 
vanity and presumption, the love of success at 
any price, were received by the public with exag- 
gerated indulgence. A certain romancer pro- 
claimed himself as greater than Napoleon, and this 
did not appear too strong. The most immoder- 
ate effusions of a childish braggadocio succeeded 
in making themselves accepted. 

How good the ancient codes of morals were, 
applied to literature ! Old masters of Port Royal, 
who thought that, when one possesses a superior- 
ity, one must seek, above all things, to conceal it, 
what would you have said to this twaddle, to this 
false varnish of greatness, which passed by, with 
heads held high, fifty years ago, without being 
stigmatized by Pascal ? Ah ! sir, it is difficult for 
an epoch to get along without an aristocracy ! 
Tact and taste need protection. What an error to 
believe that a society where the man of letters oc- 
cupies, or thinks that he occupies, the first place, 
can keep its waterline straight ! Human affairs 
are far more complicated than is believed ; the 
dignity of the writer is better sheltered behind 
ancient social conventions than behind the pre- 
tended guarantees of property. The idea which 
people formed for themselves, forty years ago, of 
the man of letters, rich, brilliant, making his way 
gallantly in the world, habituated them to the false 
conception that the writer, that is to say, the honest 
man who has something to say to the public, exer- 



1 68 RECOLLECTIONS A ND LE TTERS OF 

cises a profession, and a lucrative profession. 
Such a conception, founded on a moral error, 
caused solid acquirements to be neglected, encour- 
aged superficial work, diminished in the masses 
that respect which they naturally entertain for 
nobility of mind. 

One of the consequences of this literature, 
which was, above all, witty and light, was to ac- 
custom the public to be too much amused. The 
almost exclusive perusal of romances became a 
real source of degradation for women. Reading, 
to be salutary, ought to be an exercise implying 
some labor. From this point of view, it is good 
that books should not be written entirely in ordi- 
nary language. People reached the point of 
demanding, as an essential condition of prose 
destined to persons of society, that it should not 
necessitate any sort of attention on the part of the 
reader. In this there was a just return to human 
things. France, in the eighteenth century, had 
made its liberal and anticlerical campaign as an 
amusement. It was decreed that this amusement 
should prove fatal to it. It had slain the folios 
of the Benedictines, the quartos of the academies. 
A little frivolous volume, to fit the hand, said its 
enemies — there it is dying of lack of force. One 
cannot count the truth for an indifferent thing 
with impunity. Even light literature can be made 
seriously, and without the master faculties of the 
reason undergoing damage. 



ERNES 7^ REN A AT. 169 

• ■ 
To sum up, in a word, the defects of an epoch 
which, by every hypothesis, will remain great and 
honored, I will say that the half century, of which 
M. Cuvillier-Fleury has been the enlightened 
critic, was too literary an epoch. Admiration was 
complacent ; authors were spoiled with petting ; 
people habituated them to be easy toward them- 
selves, to seek brilliancy, flashy colors, and the 
beauties of ostentation. Poetry and reality were 
too much mixed. Poetry is made to carry us out 
of our depth, to console us for life with dreams, 
not to influence life. At the epoch of the Astree, 
plebeians of the Quartier Saint-Antoine were seen 
to sell their stocks in commerce, in order to turn 
shepherd and pasture imaginary sheep. Nowa- 
days, the dreams are less innocent. Morbus lite- 
rarius ! — The literary malady. The character- 
istic symptom of this evil is that people love less 
things themselves than the literary effect which 
they produce. One comes to view the world as 
through a theatrical illusion. The public, attacked 
by the same malady, seeks nothing but what makes 
a picture ; the illumination of the footlights dis- 
gusts them with the light of day. In this manner, 
all right appreciation of things is impeded. The 
good and the beautiful must first be loved for 
themselves ; the aureole created by success, the 
applause of the human race, come afterward, or 
do not come at all. To tell the truth, they come 
when they are not sought ; they do not come 



lyo RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

when they are sought. It is not wholesome to 
talk so much about glory, nor to adjudge to one's 
self so haughtily the future. The future will not, 
perhaps, have much time to read us ; it will be too 
much occupied with itself to occupy itself much 
with us. I fear that the abnegation of the realistic 
writers, who aim at nothing, so they say, except to 
prepare documents in the modest intention that 
future centuries may know us, will be but ill 
requited. 

This question, which we hear so often pro- 
pounded : " What will remain one of these days, 
of the works of the nineteenth century ? " has 
something superficial and ingenuous about it. 
People have been led astray by the great fact 
which has happened twice or thrice in history, of 
classic literatures, whose prestige has extended to 
very diverse nations, in very different centuries, 
and which have remained models for the human 
race. It is not probable that this phenomenon 
will occur again. The progress of civilization, of 
which we are the witnesses, lies in extension, not 
in delicacy. We shall never again, judging from 
all appearances, see languages learned with a view 
to literary culture by those whose mother tongue 
they are not. The separation of nationalities, 
carried to excess, will make each nation think that 
there is no need to go and ask models from other 
nations. Moreover, people will consult more than 
the^ will read. The books of prime importance 



ERNEST RE NAN. 171 

will be made over every twenty-five years. Each 
newcomer will profit by his predecessors, and will 
probably say a great deal of evil about them at the 
same time. Translation itself will interfere with 
the reading of originals, Moliere, Montesquieu, 
Voltaire, owed little to translations ; they were 
read in French, 

Vanity of vanities, sir ! The centuries which 
prate the most about immortality are those which 
are the least assured of it. I will say as much of 
that strange abuse of the word genius, which is 
never more prodigally employed than when there 
is the least of it, and of those pretended privileges 
which the true man of genius has never either 
known or claimed. Genius is, in general, very 
modest ! it asks only one thing, that it may be. left 
in peace. It is wrong to make existence hard for 
it ; but its duty, also, is to win pardon for its 
singularity by dint of. simplicity, of apparent vul- 
garity, of deference for other men. The future is 
to the brave, I willingly admit ; but the future 
belongs, above all, to the modest ; those will 
endure who have never given it a thought, and 
who have never believed themselves assured of 
the suffrages of posterity. 

In order to establish those literary authorities 
which are called classic centuries, something 
especially healthy and solid is necessary. Com- 
mon household bread is of more value here than 
pastry. Literature which desires to be classic, 



172 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

that is to say, universal, should be of a nature to 
be applied. That literature is good, in this 
respect, which, transferred to practice, makes a 
noble life. A life conducted according to the 
literary maxims of the seventeenth century will be 
upright and honest, whatever the proportions of 
that life may be. Modern literature cannot 
endure this ordeal. Assuredly, the artist is not 
responsible for the nonsense that people make of 
his work. The rustic, who stupidly swallows a 
perfume that has been given to him to smell, can- 
not blame anyone but himself for his folly. But, 
in order to be eternal, the least that one can do is 
to submit to some exactions. Everything which 
owes something to the caprice of the moment 
passes away like that caprice. What fashion 
makes, fashion also unmakes. A thousand years 
hence, probably only two books, the oldest books 
of humanity, will be reprinted. Homer and the 
Bible. I am mistaken ; for the tedium of future 
generations, extracts, chosen by the professors of 
literature of that day, will also be printed, with a 
view to examinations. There will be, perhaps, a 
few half-pages of some of us among them, accom- 
panied by an interlinear translation in Volaplik. 
Debemur morti nos nostraque — We and our works 
must die. 

Thus, in consequence of some errors in aesthet- 
ics and history, liberal France lost the fruit of 
rare efforts and of exquisite gifts. The authors of 



ERNEST REN AN. 1 73 

that day have the air of believing that they will 
remain forever young ; they take no care to pre- 
pare for themselves a literary old age. They for- 
get, above all, that humanity is a noble personage, 
and that it must be represented in its nobility. 
After their day, people amused themselves with alow 
class of scamps, of demoralized scapegraces, with 
Vautrin and Quinola. They allowed themselves 
to acquire a false taste for the ugly, the abject. 
They tried to make a viand of that which should 
serve only as condiment. The painting of a 
manure-heap can be justified, provided that a 
beautiful flower springs from it ; otherwise, the 
manure-heap is only repulsive. The reality, alas ! 
one encounters at every step. It has no need of 
being provided with documents ; we know it but 
too well. 

People insisted on novelty at any price. They 
established an auction where they outbid each 
other for paradoxes. They had reached the last 
icy peaks of Parnassus, where all life had ceased ; 
they insisted upon mounting still, and were aston- 
ished that the public no longer followed. The 
public, on the whole, displayed a great deal of 
sound sense. Enervated by the brief duration of 
literary reputations, it lost all faith in literature, 
and beheld in it only a pack of cards tumbling 
down upon each other. The man of merit who, 
instead of flinging himself, in cold blood, into 
Etna like Empedocles, demanded the honor of 



174 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

his life only from serious services, was held as of 
very small account. A fundamental error ! Woe 
to the nation which does not know how to make 
proper use of the 'useful man who is exempt 
from all pretensions to genius and immortality! 
Genius is rare and often dangerous in application ; 
in order to make sure that it will live, a nation 
should be able to dispense with it ; it cannot dis- 
pense with good sense, conscience, assiduity in 
labor, uprightness, 

A great moral enfeeblement was the consequence 
of the bad intellectual diet to which France had 
subjected herself. The poison produced its e^ect, 
though it had been taken in small doses. People 
had created for themselves a necessity for un- 
healthy liquors, good, at the most, to tickle the 
palate for a moment ; that which was inoffensive as 
a diversion, became bad as a habit. True intellec- 
tual culture, which had been too much neglected, 
took its revenge ; giddiness had no longer any 
counterpoise. An hour of surprise sufficed to ruin 
a compromise devised by the wisest minds. A 
cycle of horrible occurrences was opened by those 
ill-starred days, which France has not yet expiated, 
it would seem. They cheerfully committed the 
capital error of submitting to the masses the ques- 
tion which it was the least capable of answering ; 
the question as to the form of government and the 
choice of a sovereign. The child of ten, on whom 
they had imprudently conferred the rights of 



ERATEST REN AN, I75 

majority, committed follies ; what is there sur- 
prising in that ? They demanded reason of that 
throng which, in one day, could show itself the 
dupe of the grossest charlatanism and stupidly 
accessible to every calumny. They imagined that, 
without a dynasty, they could constitute a per- 
manent brain for a nation. Hence an annoying 
diminution in the central reason ; the sensoriutn 
commune of the nation found itself reduced to 
almost nothing. With precious qualities of courage, 
generosity, amiability, the best endowed of nations, 
by dint of having allowed its center of gravity to 
descend too low, beheld its destiny committed to 
the caprice of an average of opinion inferior to the 
grasp of the most mediocre sovereign called to the 
throne by the hazards of heredity. 

Weak in resistance, this generation showed itself 
harsh and narrow in reaction. We have seen, sir, 
the blind reaction which followed 1848, sad years 
in which our youth languished, and whose bitter- 
ness we would gladly spare those who shall come 
after us. Our fathers did not fulfill toward us the 
first duty of a generation to its offspring, which is 
to leave it an established order and fixed national 
framework. We shall, probably, fail in this duty 
toward those who come after us. Betrayed by our 
elders, we shall have for excuse that we could not 
bequeath that which we had not received. We 
made great sacrifices to draw the least evil result 
from an evil age ; they will serve no purpose. 



176 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Ah ! how true is the old Hebrew proverb : " Our 
fathers have eaten green grapes, and the teeth of 
their children are set on edge ! " 

Are we to bring accomplished facts up for trial ? 
Certainly not, sir. Our tastes in history are very 
nearly the same, I think. We have, if I may say 
so, the same set of patrons, fools, and enthusi- 
asts. Fanatical causes are so dear to me that I 
never narrate one of those heroic stories without 
feeling a desire to join the band of believers, to 
suffer and die with them. You love your Camille 
JDesmouUns, your condemned of " Prairial " ; you. 
grow impassioned in behalf of each one of them. 
I love them, after your description, with their 
melancholy eyes, their long hair which gives them 
the look of apostles, those ardent convictions, 
that style, at once declamatory and touching. 
There is, nevertheless, a little difference between 
us, perhaps. We are thoroughly agreed upon 
the point that the progress of the world takes 
place by impulses communicated by fanatics and 
violent men. Only, you protest when they are 

guillotined After all, they have willed it so. 

The work of fanatics succeeds only on condition 
that one speedily gets rid of them. Careers of 
this sort should be brief. Let us imagine Camille 
Desmoulins and Lucile dying in 1840, or 1845. 
It would be as shocking as to picture to ourselves 
Jeanne d'Arc living to the age of seventy. The 
prophet who passed over the walls of Jerusalem 



ERNEST REN AN. 177 

crying: " The voice of the East ! The voice of the 
West ! A voice against Jerusalem and the temple ! " 
kept within his part, when he added : " A voice 
against me ! " and the stone launched by the 
Roman balistas, which struck him full in the 
breast, gave him the only death that was really 
suitable for him. 

The Revolution, as you have very plainly per- 
ceived, must not be judged by the same rules 
which are applied to ordinary situations of human- 
ity. Viewed outside its grandiose and fatal char- 
acter, the Revolution is only odious and horrible. 
On the surface it is an orgy for which there 
is no name. In that strange battle, men count 
in proportion to their ugliness. Everything serves 
there, save good sense and moderation. The 
foolish, the incapable, the wicked, are attracted 
to it by the instinctive feeling that the moment 
for their usefulness has arrived. The success of 
the days of the Revolution seems obtained by the 
collaboration of all crimes and all insanities. The 
wretch who knows nothing but how to slay ex- 
periences fine days. The fallen woman, the*#iad- 
woman from La Salpetriere finds employment 
there. The times demanded madcaps and rascals ; 
they were served to their heart's content. One 
would have pronounced it the yawning of the gulf of 
the abyss, with all the infernal vapors of a corrupt 
century obscuring the heavens. 

But we must not dwell upon these hideous de- 



17^ RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

tails, which are the price we pay for the aid of the 
populace. When one surveys the whole — when 
one takes into account, above all, this grand coeffi- 
cient of human things, victory, which causes many 
mad attempts to be judged by their success — the 
general phenomenon of-the Revolution appears like 
one of those great movements in history which are 
dominated and directed by a superior will. The 
fixed idea with some of these madmen : " The 
Revolution must succeed at any price," became an 
obsession, a voice from without which imposed 
itself, a tyrannical suggestion. From that moment 
the Revolution had a genius, which presided day 
by day over its acts and which, in the matter of 
success, made no mistake. A pact of terror united 
thousands of men, and put them into that state of 
impersonal enthusiasm in which one is swept away, 
to life, or to death, upon a sliip which one has 
launched but which one can no longer steer. 

France alone could offer this incredible mixture 
of mind and ingenuousness, of ironical gayety and 
concentrated wrath. It was a mad " emprise," 
after 'the fashion of the chivalrous vows of the 
Middle Ages. The wagerer succeeded by virtue 
of fury, by love, by enraged conviction that he 
must succeed. And these men, possessed of a 
fixed idea, were so thoroughly in accord with that 
which was willed by the force of things, that one 
asks one's self in vain what the world would be had 
the Revolution not succeeded. It was necessary, 



ERNEST REN AM. 179 

as the attack which saves or kills. It leaves us 
suspended between admiration and horror. The 
Revolution is the most violent of human spectacles 
that it has been given to us to study. Even the 
siege of Jerusalem cannot be compared with it. It 
was a work as unconscious as a cyclone, carrying 
away without selection everything within its reach. 
Reason and justice are trifles to the colossal whirl- 
wind. Like the leviathan of the book of Job, it is 
created to be irresistible ; like the abyss, it fulfills 
its vocation, never saying, " It is enough." 

That is why the men of the Revolution are the ob- 
jects of such contradictory judgments. Ihese labor- 
ers at the work of giants, viewed by themselves, are 
pygmies. It was the work which was great, and 
which, taking possession of them, transformed them 
in accordance with its needs ; when the fit was past, 
they became once more what they had been be- 
fore, that is to say, mediocre. Take your Camille 
Desmoulins, for example. I think I shall not 
wound you, sir, if I tell you that he really amounted 
to very little, a straw borne by the wind, an 
enthusiast, a blackguard of genius, as you call him, 
a giddypate, carried away by the intoxication of 
the hour. His philosophy of history does not ex- 
tend beyond Vertot's ''Roman Revolutions." His 
style! ah, sir, you have upheld it! I compliment 
you on your patience. In those days a man was a 
great writer for two or three years. The terrible 
gravity of events made men of genius for a year, 



l8o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

for three months. Then, abandoned by the spirit 
which had sustained them for a moment, these heroes 
of a day fell with their strength exhausted, mad- 
dened, haggard, stupefied, incapable of beginning 
life again. Napoleon did right in making expedi- 
tionaries and subaltern chiefs of them. 

Their literature, as a whole, is very weak. 
They wrote badly and, what is singular in men so 
thoroughly convinced, in a pretentious manner. 
When one undertakes to print their complete works, 
one finds one's self face to face with an empty 
void. To tell the truth, their work was the 
Revolution. For so short a passage athwart 
life it was not worth the trouble to cast one's 
words in bronze or to build solidly ; they aimed 
only at the effect of the moment. Such an epoch 
could not produce a solid style, any more than 
it could produce durable edifices. Member of the 
Convention Romme, on the eve of his death, 
writes pages and pages. He is anxious " that people 
should know how he died." This is ingenuous 
and awkward. Nevertheless, I read and reread, 
with profound emotion, that passage filled with 
somber fire which you have published. Your pic- 
ture of the death of the last Montagnards is touch- 
ing and beautiful. The horrible machine worked 
badly that day. It was necessary to set Bourbotte 
up again. He profits by the fact to make a speech ; 
with his neck fast in the fatal plank he still speaks. 
Duroy, with his head under the knife, exclaims : 



ERNEST RE NAN. l8i 

" Unite ; all embrace each other ; 'tis the only 
means of saving the republic ! " Ridiculous 
phrases, uttered in such a situation, undergo a great 
change in their aesthetic character. They possess 
at least one quality — they are always sincere. 

The worst enemies of the great men of the Rev- 
olution are those who, believing that they do them 
honor, put them in the category of ordinary great 
men. They were unconsciously sublime men, who 
won their pardon by their youth, their inexperience, 
their faith. I do not like to have titles of nobility 
conferred upon them. They go alone, like the ex- 
ecutioner. With several illustrious exceptions, 
they have founded no families. As ancestors, they 
are concealed ; no one claims them. People do not 
readily acknowledge fathers from whom they can- 
not take pattern. Above all, I do not like to have 
statues erected to them. What a mistake ! W^hat 
a want of taste ! Those men were not great ! they 
were the artisans of a great hour. They must not 
be set up for imitation ; those who should imitate 
them would be villains. We love them on condi- 
tion that they shall be the last of their school. 
They succeeded in an incredible wager, against all 
probability. Where they found glory, their belated 
pupils would reap only ruin, disaster, malediction. 

No one is to blame for centenaries ; we cannot 
prevent the centuries from attaining their hun- 
dredth year. It is very annoying, nevertheless. 
Nothing is more unhealthy than to rhyme the life 



1 82 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

of the present day upon the past, when the past is 
exceptional Centenaries invoke apotheosis ; that 
is too much. A solemn, general absolution, with 
panegyrics, nothing could be better ; an embalm- 
ment, where the corpse is swathed in bands so that 
it cannot be resuscitated, would also give us infinite 
pleasure ; let us, at least, restrain ourselves from 
everything which may lead people to think that 
such acts of juvenile imprudence and grandiose 
heedlessness can be repeated. It is the glory of 
a nation that it has in its history some of the tre- 
mendous apparitions which come only once : 
Jeanne d'Arc, Louis XIV., the Revolution, Napo- 
leon ; but it is also a danger. The essence of these 
apparitions is that they shall be unique. They are 
beautiful on condition that they are not renewed. 
The Revolution must remain an attack of sacred 
malady, as the ancients said. Fever may prove 
fruitful, when it is the indication of inward labor; 
but it must not continue or repeat itself ; in that 
case, it is death. The Revolution is condemned, if 
it is proved that at the end of a hundred years it is 
all to be done over again, that it has to seek its 
path, and struggle unceasingly in conspiracies and 
anarchy. 

You are young ; you will behold the solution of 
this enigma, sir. Were the extraordinary men in 
whom we take a passionate interest right, or were 
they wrong ? What remains of that unprecedented 
intoxication^ reduced to the exact balance of profit 



ERNEST RE NAN. 183 

and loss ? Will it be the fate of these great enthus- 
iasts to remain eternally isolated, suspended in the 
void, victims of a noble folly ? Or have they, on the 
whole, founded something and prepared the future ? 
We do not know as yet. I think that we shall know 
in a few years. If, in ten or twenty years, France 
is prosperous and free, faithful to legality, sur- 
rounded by the sympathy of the liberal portions of 
the world, oh ! then the cause of the Revolution is 
saved ; the world will love it and enjoy its fruits, 
without having tasted its bitterness. But if, in ten 
or twenty years, France is still in a state of crisis, 
annihilated abroad, delivered over to the menaces 
of sects and the enterprises of vulgar popularity at 
home, oh ! then it must be pronounced that our 
artistic enthusiasm has led us to commit a political 
fault, that those audacious innovators, for whom we 
have cherished a weakness, were absolutely in the 
wrong. In that case, the Revolution would be 
vanquished for more than a century. In war, a 
captain who is always beaten cannot be a great 
captain ; in politics, a principle which, in the space 
of a hundred years, exhausts a nation, cannot be a 
true one. 

Let us suspend our judgment. Our sons will 
have the reply to the question which holds us in a 
painful uncertainty. Certainly, history has more 
than once shown us a vanquished cause coming to 
life again at the end of many centuries, with the 
nation which had perished through representing it, 



I §4 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

the victim of its superiority and of the services 
rendered by it to the common work of humanity. 
But our abnegation does not go so far as to sacri- 
fice to a resurrection and to hypothetical apotheoses 
the existence of our dear country. The true way 
to honor the generous Utopias of the past is to 
show them realized and applicable. Who can say 
what the goal of humanity is ? But, whether it be 
a question of humanity or of nature, the only or- 
ganisms which leave behind a durable trace are 
those which, conceived in sorrow, grow great in 
strife, accommodate themselves to the necessities 
of their surroundings, and resist the decisive test 
of life. 

You will aid us, sir, in defending the ancient 
house of our fathers, in preserving its plan, at least, 
in order that it may be rebuilt one day. You will 
aid us in maintaining the fundamental idea of this 
company — the principle of a literary nobility, a 
conception of the labor of the mind founded on 
respect. That, it is said, is no longer an attribute 
of our times. How many things, alas ! has our 
century taken up again which it at first rejected ? 
I fear that the work of the twentieth century will 
consist only in picking out of the waste basket a 
multitude of excellent ideas which the nineteenth 

century has foolishly consigned to it But I 

do not wish to conclude this reunion with sad 
thoughts. This century, which proves its good- 
ness in that one possesses every facility for 
speaking evil of it, is, after all, that in which 



ERNEST REN AN. 185 

it has been the pleaantest to live. We have 
enjoyed the best that exists. If its close some- 
times inspires us with anxiety, let us soar to 
that serene region where we can say to our- 
selves, without too many objections, "God does 
well that which he does." These armchairs are, 
after all, very comfortable places in which to await 
death patiently-; life in them is fairly sweet. Let 
us enjoy what is still granted us. We have had 
our five acts, and, as Marcus Aurelius says : " He 
who dismisses us is without wrath." The ancients 
felt a sort of religious respect in the presence of 
the spectacle of a happy life. Yours, sir, appears 
to me to have been of this sort. Everything has 
smiled on you, and, without any sacrifice of your 
sincerity, you have contrived to unite, in common 
sympathy, the most opposite parties — the sym- 
pathies which are the least accustomed to find 
themselves together. This you owe to your happy 
genius ; you owe it, also, to this gentle age of iron, 
to this excellent country in which we have the hap- 
piness to live. Our century has been good to us, 
sir. It has found in us that which it loves — pos- 
sibly some of its defects. I do not know whether, 
in any other epoch, in any other country, we should 
have been able to put to so much profit the talent 
which has been confided to us. Poor country ! It 
is because we love it that we are sometimes a little 
harsh toward it. You were quite right in saying 
that it will always be the principle of our hopes and 
of our joys ! 



1 86 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

LECTURE BEFORE THE ALLIANCE FOR THE 
PROPAGATION OF THE FRENCH LAN- 
GUAGE, FEBRUARY 2, 1 888. 

Ladies and Gentlemen : When I received, a few 
days ago, the visit of the young and amiable depu- 
ties who came to invite me to take part in this fes- 
tival, I felt great hesitation. This association is 
certainly one of the works to which I am most de- 
voted. On the other hand, I had imposed upon 
myself this winter the absolute rule not to deliver 
any more lectures. Old age, which has so many 
ways of making itself felt, has chosen to try me at 
this moment by a great weakness of voice. I 
wished to refuse ; then I thought of the extreme 
joy which I should feel at finding myself once 
more in the presence of a young and sympathetic 
audience ; I accepted. You will be indulgent, 
ladies and gentlemen. It will be the last time, I 
assure you, that I shall commit the error of speak- 
ing in places so disproportioned to my present 
powers. Moreover, I sha41 be brief. I should like 
merely to exchange a few thoughts with you in 
regard to our dear French language; on its benefits, 
on the struggles which it is undergoing, on the 
efforts which these gentlemen are making, with 
such disinterested zeal, to assure it a future. 

Yes, this is an excellent work, ladies and gentle- 
men. I have always adhered to it with fervor. I 



ERNEST REN AN. 187 

defend it from the bottom of my heart. This work 
is good, in the first place, for our dear country, 
which we should K;ve all the more, in proportion 
as it is lacerated, as it is misunderstood. It is good 
also for humanity. The preservation, the propa- 
gation of the French tongue are of importance to 
the general order of civilization. Some essential 
thing will be lacking to the world on the day when 
this great torch, clear and sparkling, shall cease to 
shine. Humanity would be lessened if this mar- 
velous instrument of civilization were to disappear 
or to be diminished. 

How many eternally good and true things have 
been first uttered in French, ladies* and gentlemen, 
have been coined in French, have made their ap- 
pearance in the world in French ! How many 
liberal and just ideas have first found their for- 
mula, their veritable definition in French ! How 
many good and beautiful things our language has 
said from its infant lispings in the twelfth century 
down to our own days ! The abolition of slavery, 
the rights of man, equality, liberty, were proclaimed 
for the first time in French ! It is in England, but 
in the French tongue that there bursts forth, in the 
the twelfth century, this first appeal to equality, in 
the mouth of the peasants : 

We are men as they Nous sommes hommes 

are : comme il sont : 

We have all the mem- Tous membres avons 

bers they have, comme ils ont, 



I5« RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

And we have as great a Et tout aussi grand corps 

body, avons, 

And we can suffer as Et tout autant souffrir 

much ; pouvons ; 

We lack only force of Ne nous faut fors coeur 

heart. seulement. 

It is rather brutal ; equality is so sometimes. 
But would you have an expression of liberty less 
haughty? This is the way in which the king of 
France expresses himself in 13 15. It was written 
in Latin, but assuredly thought in French. " As, 
according to the law of nature, every man should 
be born free [Franc]. . . ; we, considering that 
our realm is called and named the kingdom of the 
Francs, and wishing that the thing should agree 
with the name, have ordained and do ordain, 
etc." It appears that the fiscal laws had a good 
deal to do with what followed ; but never mind, 
the principle was a good one to utter, and it was 
well uttered. 

Here now, is a bishop, privy councilor of 
Charles V., about the middle of the fourteenth 
century, pronouncing the prelude to 1789 : "Now 
the very noble line of the kings of France does not 
learn to tyrannize, and thus the Galilean people 
do not become accustomed to servile subjection, 
and hence, if the noble royal line of France departs 
from its first virtue, there is no doubt that it will 
lose its kingdom, and this will be translated into 
other hands," 



ERNEST REN AN. 1S9 

That is tolerably swaggering, is it not ? He 

• was a Bishop of Lizieux ; he might have been 

Bishop of Autun and celebrated, at another epoch, 

in the Champs-de-Mars, the mass of Liberty on 

the altar of country. 

I should never make an end, ladies and gentle- 
men, were I to enumerate to you, century by 
century, all the phrases useful to humanity which 
have blossomed in our dear language. It is a 
truly liberal language. It has been good to the 
weak, the poor, let us add, to the intelligent man, 
to the witty man. 

Everything may be abused, ladies and gentle- 
men. The most noble banners may be dragged 
through the miid. But the worst error that one 
can commit is to repulse truths, because they 
have been abused or because they have become 
commonplace. Comm.onplace ! . . . that means 
that they are true ; the greatest praise which an 
idea can have is that it has become commonplace. 
Liberty, Equality, Fraternity. That is French, 
and that will make the circuit of the earth. An 
Oriental of my acquaintance almost brought about 
a revolution in certain parts of Persia with those 
three words. Some doctors of Kerbela decided 
that they were more beautiful than the Koran, and 
that there must have been a divine revelation in 
order that those words might be discovered. A 
charming traveling companion whom I had in 
Syria — allow me to name him : it was M. Lock- 



190 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

roy — reaped unprecedented success of all sorts, in 
Lebanon, especially when he sung the " Mar- 
seillaise." Those fine people comprehended it 
instinctively. Everywhere that the French lan- 
guage goes, gentlemen, the Revolution will ride 
behind it. I know that one must not have too 
much of the Revolution ; but there are a great 
many countries in the world where certain doses 
of it would still do good. Let us not force it ; 
but let us allow liberty of action to our little 
clarion, which becomes, at certain times, we know 
not well how, the trumpet of Jericho. 

I say that French has been a beneficent lan- 
guage to humanity. It has also been an amiable 
language. Oh, what sweet things have been 
said in French ! There is no language from which 
one can detach prettier phrases. What fine . and 
exquisite sentiments have found their expression 
in the harmonious idiom whose utterance Brunette 
Latini already considered so delectable in the thir- 
teenth century ! The question has been asked — in 
what language was the Lancelot which Francesca da 
Rimini read ; for my part, I have no doubt on that 
point ; it was in French. My learned colleagues, 
M. Gaston Paris and M. Paul Meyer, will correct 
me if I am wrong. 

And what will this language, which has already 
said so many charming things, say in the future ? 
One must be a prophet to know that. It will 
say tolerably diverse, but always liberal things. 



ERNEST REN AN. 192: 

French, ladies and gentlemen, will never be the 
language of the absurd, neither will it ever be a 
reactionary language. I cannot imagine a serious 
reaction having for organ the French tongue. 
This good Gallican people, as Oresmus says, will 
never entangle itself very deeply in that quarter. 
Look at M. de Maistre, M. Chateaubriand ; oh, 
such inquisitors would not alarm me much ! And 
M. de Montalembert ! .... A matter for laugh- 
ter ! M. de Falloux ! .... A little more serious. 
The question is to know whether the reactionary 
has wit. If he has, he halts very promptly. I 
fear only the reactionary without wit ; but that 
man does not speak French ; we need not occupy 
ourselves with him. 

A fact which is, with justice, regarded as very 
significant, is the general sentiment of retrograde 
parties, throughout the whole world, for French. 
They are afraid of it ; they barricade themselves 
against it. One would say that this language 
carries the pest with it — the pest according to the 
reactionaries, of course. Proceed, proceed, never- 
theless. Poor France ! her hour will come yet. 
Who knows whether the propositions of peace and 
of liberty which shall withdraw Europe from the 
frightful state of hatred and of military prepara- 
tions in which she lies, will not be formulated in 
French ? 

That is why French may really be called a classic 
language, an instrument of culture and of civili- 



192 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

zation for all. This language improves ; it is a 
school ; it has naturalness, good nature, it knows 
how to laugh, it carries with it an amiable skepti- 
cism, mingled with kindness — skepticism without 
kindness is a very bad thing. Fanaticism is im- 
possible in French. I have a horror of fanaticism, 
especially of Mussulman fanaticism ; well ! this 
great scourge will cease through French. No 
Mussulman who knows French will ever be a dan- 
gerous Mussulman. It is an excellent language in 
which to doubt ; now, in the future, doubt will, 
perhaps, be a very necessary thing. Can you im- 
agine Montaigne, Pascal, Moliere, Voltaire, other- 
wise than in French ? Ah ! ladies and gentlemen, 
what joy will leave the world on the day when 
French leaves it ! Preserve it, preserve it. By 
the side of the fanatic races, there are melancholy 
races. Teach them also French. I am thinking 
now, in particular, of our unhappy brothers, the 
Slavs. They have suffered so much for centuries, 
that they must be kept, above all things, from 
loving nothingness. The French language and 
French wine will have a humanitarian role to play 
there. French rejoices ; its favorite locutions 
imply a gay sentiment of life, the idea, that, at 
bottom, nothing is very serious, and that one enters 
into the intentions of the Eternal by a little irony. 
The great inferiority of the barbarian — of the 
Oriental, in particular — is that he does not know 
how to laugh. Teach all nations to laugh in 



ERNEST REN AN. 193 

French. That is the most philosophical thing in 
the world, and the healthiest. French songs are 
good also. In former days I calumniated the god of 
the minstrels ; heavens ! how wrong I was ! He is 
a god who is never malicious, who has never done 
any evil. Who is it that said that God takes more 
pleasure in the oaths of a French soldier than in 
the prayers of such and such a Puritan sect ? One 
enters, through gayety, into the profoundest views 
of Providence. It is good policy to labor to render 
man content. It is the only means of preventing 
his being veryj wicked. 

Our Gallic race has always possessed an im- 
mense superiority in this respect. I often reflect 
that, during that somber first half of the Middle 
Ages, when all joy of the real seemed lost, the 
Burgundian or Aquitanian peasant continued to 
drink his wine and to sing his joyous melodies, 
without troubling himself over the grand, supernat- 
ural dream which bewitched the rest of the world. 

He did not contradict the universal be- 
lief ; but lie did not allow himself to be over- 
whelmed by it. What I love most in Gregory of 
Tours is the narrative of the manner in which the 
bourgeois of Orleans induced Gontran to come 
and taste with them the sweetness of city life. At 
the end of a few days, Gontran found that this 
manner of life was far superior to the profound 
melancholy of a barbarian's life. That good Cari- 
bert, King of Pftris, was caught in the same way. 



194 RECOLLECriOI^S AND LETTERS OF 

He died young through having loved too much the 
Parisian women of his day. Our language, our 
customs, our wines, our songs, have always exer- 
cised in the world an apostleship of good humor 
and humanity. 

You have been all the more in right, gentlemen, 
in constituting yourselves the defenders of our 
dear language, since it has always defended itself 
very badly. It has always been one of the glories 
of France, that she has never done violence to the 
linguistic conscience of anyone. She has never 
taken any coercive measures in the matter of 
languages. Language is a religion, in its own way. 
To persecute a person for his language is as bad 
as to persecute him for his religion. As it often 
happens, we have been punished for our delicacy. 
A wind, so little liberal in its nature, has blown 
over the world that that which men should have 
praised has almost been converted into an argu- 
ment against us. They have taken from us with 
less scruple a country, '' which," they said, " we 
have not understood how to assimilate." What 
would you have ? The world loves the strong. 
Let us allow it to take its course ; then it will soon 
change its fashion. Let us wait : we shall soon 
find that we were in the right. I have always re- 
garded as very beautiful the reply of Abraham to 
his ally, the King of Sodom :. Da inihi ajiiuias ; 
coetera iolle tibi — Give me the souls ; take thou the 
rest! • 



ERNEST REMAIN. 19S 

The souls have remained faithful to us, gentle- 
men. But sympathetic propaganda is permitted 
to us in exactly the same proportion that brutal 
propaganda is forbidden to us. Your schools 
are a gratuitous gift, which forces no one. You 
offer something excellent ; each person is free 
to accept or reject. You obtain your results by 
purely pacific means. The perusal of your Bulle- 
tins is delicious and touching. What youth, what 
devotion ! What courage in your schoolmasters 
and mistresses ! I love those old Canadians who 
travel a hundred leagues on horseback, to hear 
French spoken. I love those religious heroes 
who maintain, in the midst of barbarous lands, a 
tradition of honesty, of uprightness, of cordiality. 
Thanks to your excellent proceedings people will 
not only learn French, but they will love it. For 
those poor, disinherited races, all good things have 
come with it. It will have been the bearer of all 
good news, liberty, contentment, the joy of living. 
Let all refer the commencement of all their joys to 
the day when they learned French. 

And let not the objection be raised that French 
is an aristocratic language, of a culture too refined 
for the barbarian, lace rather than homespun. 
Oh ! it matters not, gentlemen. I will even say : 
so much the better. Popular things are, almost 
always, very aristocratic things. One must never 
serve the people with anything that is not very 
noble. Latin, the language which has conquered 



196 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

most barbarians, is the infinitely delicate lan- 
guage of poets, almost of decadents, as it is ex- 
pressed to-day. In the matter of a language, num- 
ber is necessary ; everything counts. In order 
that some may speak well it is necessary that 
some should speak ill. Long life to the barba- 
rians, gentlemen ! It is through them that we live 
and continue. 

With a profound intuition of history, you have 
perceived all this. .The barbarian belongs to the 
first person who captures him. The seed which 
you are sowing will bear fruit for centuries. 
Thanks, in the name of France, gentlemen. Thanks 
in the name of us writers, who will, perhaps, be 
indebted to you that some page of our books, 
which has, by chance, escaped destruction, will be 
read by the erudite a thousand years hence. 
Thanks in the name of the French Academy, to 
whom you will give the means of finishing its 
historical Dictionary ; twelve hundred years are 
required for that, according to the most moderate 
computation ; we owe them to you. Thanks for 
all the world. Hold, gentlemen, there is one day, 
when the use of French will be very necessary ; it 
is the day of the Valley of Jehoshaphat. Prolong 
the life of French until the Last Judgment. I as- 
sure you that, if German is spoken on that day, 
there will be errors and confusion without number. 
All the discoveries, for example, will turn out to 
have been made by the Germans. Gentlemen, I 



ERNEST REN AN. , 197 

beg of you, arrange it so that German shall not be 
spoken in the Valley of Jehoshaphat. 

My learned colleague, M. Gaston Paris, com- 
municated to me yesterday, on this subject, a pas- 
sage from a poet of Champagne of the twelfth cent- 
ury, which ought to reassure us. According to 
this author, French is the language of God himself : 

C'est ci 1 que Dieu s'entent an9ois, 
Qu'il le fist et bel et legier. 

'Tis that which God understands himself, 
He made it beautiful and light. 

This, certainly is a fine privilege. For my part, 
gentlemen, I make a great point of your confirm- 
ing it ; I will tell you why. You listen to me 
with so much favor, ladies and gentlemen, that I 
will confide to you a dream in which I often in- 
dulge. I receive so many letters which announce 
to me my eternal damnation that I have finally 
come to a conclusion about it. It will not be very 
just ; but I much prefer hell, after all, to annihila- 
tion. I am persuaded that I shall succeed in put- 
ting the situation to good use, and I think that, if I 
have only the good God to deal with, I shall manage 
to touch him. There are theologians who concede 
a mitigation in the pains of the damned. Well, in 
my sleepless nights, I amuse myself by composing 
petitions, which I suppose addressed to-the Eternal 
from the remotest depths of hell. I almost always 
try to prove to him that he is a little the cause of 



198 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

our perdition, and that there are things which he 
should have made clearer. Among these petitions 
there are some tolerably piquant specimens, which 
would make the Eternal smile, I think. But it is 
plain that they will lose all their salt if I am 
obliged to translate them into German. Preserve 
me from that misfortune, gentlemen. 1 depend on 
you to make French the language of eternal life. 
Otherwise, I shall be lost. 

Pardon me, ladies and gentlemen, for having in- 
terrupted your pleasures with such black thoughts. 
Let me thank you for the extreme joy which you 
have given me by your sympathetic attention, and 
your cordial welcome. 



SPEECH DELIVERED AT MONTMORENCY, ON 
THE OCCASION OF THE REMOVAL OF THE 
ASHES OF MICKIEWICZ, JUNE 29, 189O. 

Gentlemen : The College of France thanks you 
for having been so good as to associate me with 
your noble thought to return to his native land the 
remains of an eminent man whom Poland had lent 
to us, and whom she takes back to-day ; that is 
justice. Our college, founded to interrogate 
nature, and to explain, by languages and literatures, 
the free genius of peoples, is like a common land 
for souls, where all meet. Bodies do not belong 



ERNEST RE NAN. 199 

to US. Take then, these remains, which genius 
illuminated. Adam Mickiewicz does not quit us 
entirely. We shall have his spirit, his memory. 
Our ancient halls will preserve the distant echo of 
his voice. Some survivors of those heroic times 
can still tell us how much intoxication, magic, 
enchanting power, his words possessed. Asso- 
ciated in a glorious trinity with two other names 
which are dear to us— those of Michelet and 
Quinet — the name of Mickiewicz has become for 
us a creed, an inseparable part of our ancient 
glories and our ancient joys. 

This is because your compatriot, gentlemen, had 
the capital quality by which a man dominates his 
century — sincerity, personal enthusiasm, absence 
of self-love, creating a state of soul in which he 
does not do, or does not say, or does not write 
that which he wishes, but in which he does, 
says, or writes that which is dictated to him 
by a genius placed outside of him. This genius 
is, almost always, the century, eternally ill, which 
desires that its wounds shall be caressed ; that its 
fever shall be calmed with sonorous words. It 
is far more, even, the race, the interior voice of an- 
cestors and the man's blood. Mickiewicz had these 
two great sources of inspiration. When Madame 
Sand, like a true sister, comprehended his genius at 
the first word, she perceived that that heart had felt 
all our wounds ; that our convulsions had made it 
palpitate. The glory of our century lies in having 



200 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

wished to realize the impossible ; to solve the 
insoluble. Glory to it ! The men of action who 
shall attempt to realize the immensity of these 
programmes will all be impotent ; the men of 
reason will end only in contradictions. The poet 
who never doubts, who after each defeat sets to work 
more ardently and more vigorously than ever, is 
never confounded. Such was Mickiewicz. He 
possessed withm himself sources of infinite 
resurrections. He endured the most cruel 
anguishes, but never that of despair ; his imper- 
turbable faith in the future sprang from a sort of 
profound instinct — from something which is in us, 
and which speaks to us more loudly than the sad 
reality. I mean the spirit of the past, the solidarity 
with that which does not die. The cheerful men 
are those in whom is thus an incarnated form of the 
universal conscience, who accomplish their human 
destiny as the ant toils, as the bee makes its 
honey. 

Sprung from that family of the Aryan race which 
has been most conservative of primitive gifts — 
from that Lithuania which, by its language, its 
serenity, its moral seriousness, represents best to 
us our grave and honest ancestors — Mickiewicz 
was related to the ancient centuries by bonds of 
secret communication which made of him a seer 
into the past. And he was, at the same time, a seer 
into the future. He believed in his race ; but he 
believed, above all, in the divine spirit which ani- 



ERNEST KENAN. 201 

mates all that which bears within it the breath of 
life, and, athwart all clouds, he beheld a brilliant 
future in which poor humanity should receive con- 
solation for its sufferings. This great idealist was 
a great patriot, but he was, above all, a believer. 
And as the real reason for belief in immortality is 
furnished by the martyrs, his prophetic inaagina- 
tion, inspired by the beating of his own heart, 
persuaded him that it is not in vain that humanity 
has toiled so much, and that its victims have suf- 
fered so much. 

This is why enlightened French society welcomed 
so gladly this great and noble spirit, associated 
him with all that it held dearest, made him spon- 
taneously, and almost without consulting him, 
member of a triumvirate for liberty and against 
religion badly understood. On the day when the 
Slavic genius had conquered its place among the 
national geniuses which are studied in a scientific 
manner, and when the creation of a professorship 
of Slavic languages and literatures was decided 
upon, a highly liberal thought occurred to those 
who then directed the intellectual affairs of France, 
and this was to charge Mickiewicz with this 
instruction. The poet, the man who represents 
the soul of a people, who possesses its legends, who 
has the intuition of its origins, appeared preferable 
for the profound analysis of a race to the learned 
man of the study who works only with books. 
They were right. The living meadow, with its 



202 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

flowers, is superior to the dried herbarium, which 
offers only a pale memory of life. The volumes 
containing M. Mickiewicz's first course of lectures, 
constitute a treasure of original information upon 
the ancient history of the Slav race, which the 
professor explained like a learned man and felt 
like a man of the people. He was accused of 
transgressing his programme. Ah ! how difficult 
it is to confine one's self to a limited programme 
when one is intoxicated with the infinite ! Such as 
he was, with his bold divinations, his overflowing 
aspirations, his noble illusions of a prophet, we are 
proud of him, and although the decree of his 
official election was deferred through scruples of 
policy, we have inscribed his name on the tablets 
of marble which contain the names of our seniors. 
He had in his favor the best of decrees, that which 
is countersigned by the enthusiasm of the people. 
You are about to transport him from the hospitable 
soil where he has reposed for five-and-thirty years 
to your Saint Denis, in the vaults of Wawel, where 
repose your ancient sovereigns. There he will lie 
by the side of Kosciusko and Poniatowski, the only 
members of that noble assembly who were not 
kings. By the side of those who have wielded the 
sword you have desired to prepare a place for the 
inspired poet, who has lent a voice to your trong 
and ardent genius, to your exquisite legends, to all 
which transports and consoles you, which makes you 
smile and weep. Thereby you give a great lesson 
to idealism ; you proclaim that a nation is a spiritual 



' ERNEST KENAN. 203 

thing, that it possesses a soul which is not con- 
quered with the means wherewith the body is 
conquered. 

Great and illustrious colleague, remember 
France ; from the royal tomb which the admira- 
tion of your compatriots has prepared for you, 
remember France. Poor France ! She does not 
forget, be assured. That which she has loved 
once she loves forever. That which she has ap- 
plauded in your words, she will applaud again. 
The rostrum which she has offered to you, she will 
offer again more freely. You would hesitate to 
recall there so often memories of victory, but you 
would find heartfelt words wherewith to teach the 
austere duties of the vanquished. Go to the glory 
which you have merited ; return to the homage of 
the people, to that country which you have loved 
so much. We restrict our ambition to a single 
point, that it may be stated on your tomb that you 
were one of us ; that people may know, in the 
Poland of the future, that, in the days of trial, 
there was a liberal France to receive you, to 
applaud you, to love you. 



VICTOR HUGO. 

M. Victor Hugo was one of the proofs of the 
unity of our French conscience. The admiration 
which surrounded his last years has demonstrated 
that there are still points upon which we are in ac- 



204 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

cord. Without distinction of classes, of parties, of 
sects, of literary opinions, the public, for the last 
few days, has hung suspended on the heartbreak- 
ing narrative of his death-agony ; and now there is 
no one who does not feel a great void at the heart 
of the country. He was an essential member of 
the Church in the communion of which we live ; 
one would say that the spire of that ancient cathe- 
dral had crumbled with that noble existence which 
has borne the highest, in our century, the banner 
of the ideal. 

M. Victor Hugo was a very great man ; he was, 
above all, an extraordinary man, a unique man. 
He seems to have been created by a special nomi- 
nating decree of the Eternal. All the categories of 
literary history were thrown into confusion in him. 
That criticism which shall, one day, seek to disen- 
tangle his origins, will find itself in the presence of 
the most complicated problem. Was he French, 
German, Spanish ? He was all this and something 
more. His genius is above all distinctions of race ; 
none of the families into which the human race is 
divided, physically and morally, can claim him. 

Is he a spiritualist ? Is he a materialist ? I do 
not know. On the one hand, he does not know 
what abstraction is ; his principal, I may say his 
sole, cult, is for two or three enormous realities, 
such as Paris, Napoleon, the people. On souls, he 
held the ideas of Tertullian ; he thinks he sees 
them, be touches thern ; his immortality is only the 



ERiVEST RENAN. 205 

immortality of the head. He is highly idealistic, 
withal. For him, the idea penetrates matter and 
constitutes its reason for existence. His God is 
not the hidden God of Spinoza, a stranger to the 
development of the universe ; he is a God to 
whom it may be useless to pray, but whom he 
adored with a sort of trembling. He is the Abyss 
of the Gnostics. His life was passed under the 
powerful obsession of a living infinity, which em- 
braced him, overflowed upon him from all direc- 
tions, and in the bosom of which he found it 
sweet to lose himself and enter into delirium. 

That lofty philosophy which was the daily occu- 
pation of the long hours that he passed alone with 
himself is the secret of his genius. For him the 
world is like a diamond with a thousand facets, 
sparkling with internal fires, suspended in a night 
without bounds. He desires to express that which 
he sees and feels ; materially he cannot. The tran- 
quil state of the poet's soul, which believes that it 
holds the infinite, or which easily resigns itself to 
its impotence, is not his. He persists, he stammers, 
he hardens himself against the impossible ; he does 
not consent to hold his peace ; like the Hebrew 
prophet, he likes to say : Dojuine, nescio loqui 
— Lord, I know not how to speak. His prodig- 
ious reason completes what his imagination does 
not perceive. Often above humanity, he is some- 
times below it. Like a Cyclops, hardly disengaged 
from matter, he possesses the secrets of a lost 



2o6 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

world. His immense work is the mirage of a uni- 
verse which no eye shall behold again. 

His defects were thus necessary defects ; he 
could not have existed without them ; they were 
the defects of an unconscious force of nature, act- 
ing through the effect of an inward tension. He 
was born to be the sonorous clarion which throws 
down walls of cities which have waxed old. The 
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had excelled 
in a limited conception of the human mind. The 
great writers of those epochs wished to see only 
the finished ; things appeared to them in their 
definitive state, they never beheld them in the proc- 
ess of creation. The infinite development escaped 
them. The mysteries of origins, the wonders of 
instinct, the genius of crowds, spontaneity under 
all forms, were beyond them. At the beginning 
of our century the evil had reached its height. 
The physical contemplation of the universe 
wrought miracles : " La Mechanique Celeste " of 
Laplace, and " La Mechanique Analytique " of La- 
grange, composed separately, arrived at an em- 
brace, like two hemispheres combined expressly to 
be united ! But the moral contemplation of the 
universe, that is to say, literature, had become a 
puerile game — something empty, factitious, scanty. 

M. Victor Hugo was the most illustrious among 
those who undertook to lead back this degraded 
literature to lofty inspirations. He was filled with 
a truly poetical breath ; with him, everything is 



ERNEST REN AN. 207 

germ and vigorous with life. A singular discovery- 
coincides with that of the new spirit ; it is that the 
French language, which might seem no longer 
good for anything but to rhyme witty or amiable 
little verses, suddenly finds itself vibrating, 
sonorous, full of brilliancy. The poet, who has just 
opened to imagination and sentiment fresh paths, 
reveals to French poetry its harmony. That which 
was only a great bell of lead becomes in his hands 
a fine, small bell of steel. 

The battle was won. Who, to-day, would wish 
to demand of the general an account of the 
maneuvers which he employed, of the sacrifices 
which were the conditions of success ? The gen- 
eral is obliged to be an egotist. The army is he ; 
and personality, to be condemned in other men, is 
imposed upon him. M. Hugo had become a creed, 
a principle, an affirmation — the affirmation of 
idealism and of free art. He owed himself to his 
own religion ; he was like a god who should be, at 
the same time, a priest to' himself. His strong and 
lofty nature lent itself to such a part, which would 
have been unsupportable for any other. He was 
the least free of men, and that did not weigh upon 
him. A great instinct made its way to the light 
through him. He was like a spring of the spiritual 
world. He had not the time to have taste, and, 
moreover, that would have served him but little. 
His policy must be that which best suited his 
battle. It was, in reality, subordinated to his 



2o8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

great literary strategies, and was sometimes forced 
to suffer from them, like everything of the first 
order which it reduced to the second rank and 
which it sacrificed to a preferred goal. 

In proportion as he advanced in life, the grand 
ideal which has always filled him was expanded, 
purified. He was more and more seized with pity 
for the thousands of beings whom nature immolates 
to the great things which she makes. Eternal 
honor of our race ! Starting from the two opposite 
poles, M. Hugo and Voltaire unite in the love of 
justice and of humanity. In 1878 ancient literary 
antipathies subsided : the cold tragedies of the 
eighteenth century were forgotten ; Victor Hugo 
awarded to his adversary the apotheosis, certainly 
not for his literary baggage, but \\\ spite of his lit- 
erary baggage. Liberalism is the national work of 
France ; one is judged, in history, according to the 
measure of services which one has rendered to it. 

What will happen in 1985 when the centenary of 
M. Victor Hugo will be celebrated in its turn ? 
Who shall dare to predict, in the face of the 
obscurities of a future which appears to us closed 
on all sides ? One thing alone is very probable. 
That which has remained of Voltaire will remain 
of M. Hugo. Voltaire, in the name of an admi-- 
rable good sense, proclaims that men blaspheme 
God when they think to serve his cause by preach- 
ing hatred. M. Hugo, in the name of a grandiose 
instinct, proclaims a father of beings, in whom all 
beings are brothers. The priests will be absent 



ERNEST REN- an: 209 

from M. Hugo's funeral. That is loyal ; it would 
have been better had matters passed off with the 
same decorum at the funeral of Voltaire. For my 
part, had I the right to wear the gown and band 
of any religion, and were I called upon to pro- 
nounce the last farewell to the dead, this is what I 
would say, as I poured a few grains of incense 
upon the sacred flames. 

"Brothers and sisters, send up with this incense 
your best prayers, in memory of those great men 
whom the purified manner in which they regarded 
divine things has not permitted to desire ordinary 
songs and chants. So strong an ideal filled their 
soul that they affirmed the immortality of the ideal 
itself. They believed so energetically in the true, 
in the good, in justice, that they conceived these 
apparent abstractions as a real and supreme exist- 
ence. Their language on this point was that of 
the most simple among you. They took pleasure 
in the words which you employ ; they avoided the 
mistake of many subtle minds which, in order not 
to speak like the credulous centuries, wear them- 
selve's out in seeking synonyms of God." 



GEORGE SAND. 

During the days which preceded her death, 
Madame Sand had written for the Temps, in rela- 
tion to my " Philosophical Dialogues," an article 
which the director of the Temps was so kind as to 



2IO RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

communicate to me. I thanked him for it in the 
following letter : 

Paris, June ii, 1876. 

My Dear Friend : I send you back, not without 
some tears, the sheets which you have permitted 
me to read. I am touched to the bottom of my 
heart at having been the last to cause vibration in 
that sonorous soul, which was like the seolian harp 
of our epoch. Her death appears to me a loss to 
humanity ; henceforth, something will be lacking to 
our concert ; a cord has been broken in the lyre of 
the century. She possessed the divine talent of be- 
stowing wings on everything, of making art with 
the idea which, to others, remained rough and 
formless. She drew charming pages from people 
who have never written a single good page ; for an 
instrument of infinite sensibility lay within her ; 
moved, by everything that was original and true, 
responding by the wealth of her inner bemg to all 
impressions from without, she transformed and 
rendered everything into infinite harmonies. She 
gave life to the aspirations of those who felt but 
who could not create. She was the inspired poet 
who clothed with a body our hopes, our plaints, our 
faults, our groans. 

This admirable gift of understanding and ex- 
pressing everything was the source of her kindness. 
It is the characteristic of great souls that they are 
incapable of hatred. They see good everywhere 
and they love good in everything. ''I had no 



ERNEST REN AN. 21 1 

other enemies than those of the state," said a great 
man in poHtics. We have no other enemies than 
those of the ideal ; now, if we except a few souls 
which have been unfortunately born, the ideal has 
no enemies in reality ; it has its more or less imper- 
fect adorers. Madame Sand has sometimes been 
reproached for that indulgence which, it was said, 
prevented her feeling sufficient indignation against 
evil, left her disarmed in the presence of her 
enemies, made her forget quickly outrage and 
calumny. It was because she had, in fact, a very 
different work to do from occupying her mind with 
such petty thoughts. Hate the foolish — great 
Heavens ! — reply to all the absurdities, wear out her 
life in a fruitless struggle, place herself at the 
mercy of her insu Iters by giving them the right to 
think that they can wound her — what madness, 
when the world is so vast, when the universe con- 
tains so many secrets to be divined, so many charm- 
ing things to contemplate ! Madame Sand had 
not the ordinary defect of literary people. She 
knew no self-love. Her life, passed, in spite of 
appearances to the contrary, in a profound peace, 
in noble disdain of plebeian judgments, was, 
throughout, an ardent seeking after the forms under 
which it is permitted us to admire the infinite. 

She took no precautions against pharisees. She 
did not provoke them, but she never thought of 
them. Her candor, her artlessness permitted her 
to indulge in miracles of disdain and of admirable 



^12 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

serenity. Yesterday, an hour before her funeral, 
some literary reticences, dominated by respect, 
could be expressed among those whom a desire to 
render her homage had assembled in her park. A 
nightingale suddenly began to sing in a voice so 
sweet that many said : " Ah ! that is the speech 
which is really in place here ; hereulogium is that 
which flows from the breast swelling with the love 
of pure and simple beings." Her funeral was what 
it should have been. She reposes in the corner of 
a rustic cemetery, beneath a fine green cypress. 
All the inhabitants of the country round about 
were present ; all wept. With much tact, it had 
been felt that the ideas of the simple women who 
came to pray for her, hooded, chaplet in hand, 
must not be troubled. That coffin, covered with 
flowers, borne by peasants, must traverse the 
church. For my own part, I should have regretted 
to pass, without entering, that porch sheltered by 
great trees ; I should have regretted the absence 
of the old chanter who intoned the psalms without 
understanding them, and of the choir boy who 
carried the holy water with an air of abstraction. 
Oh ! what a fine legend will be built thereon by 
the people and the Church, those eternal creators 
of myth, more true than the truth ! The simple 
who imagine that she had errors to retract, will 
make out that she was converted. They will 
not be able to make up their minds to damn so 
great a soul. The first time that I saw a portrait 



ERNEST KENAN. 213 

of Madame Sand, was in Brittany, in the year 1836 
or 1837 (I was fifteen years of age) ; the priests ex- 
hibited it with horror ; it was a lithograph represent- 
ing a tall woman, clad in black, trampling under 
foot a crucifix. How quickly the Church pardons ! 
In ten years she will be saved. Thousands more 
will peruse her, saying, to excuse their hardihood : 
" It is possible that she erred ; but she made a 
good end." 

Very few will be able to understand such sin- 
cerity, such a complete absence of declamation, 
such a perfect horror of posing and phrase-making, 
so much innocence of mind. Genius plays with 
error as children play with serpents ; they are not 
bitten. Madame Sand traversed all dreams ; she 
smiled on all, believed for a moment in all ; her 
practical judgment was sometimes led astray ; but, 
as an artist, she never made a mistake. Her works 
are really the echo of our century. She will be 
loved, she will be sought, when this poor nineteenth 
century which we calumniate, but which will one 
day be pardoned much, shall be no more. George 
Sand will come to life again as our interpreter. 
The century has not received a wound at which her 
heart has not bled, it has not suffered a malady 
which has not wrung from her harmonious tears. 
Her books bear promises of immortality because 
they will be forever the testimony of that which we 
have desired, thought, felt, suffered. 

Give quickly to your readers these fine pages, the 



214 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

last, it would seem, that she wrote before being 
struck down by the pains of death, and believe in 
my sincere affection. 



M. COUSIN. 

My learned colleague, M. Janet, has lately pub- 
lished a volume filled with facts and judicious re- 
marks, under the title : " Victor Cousin and his 
Works."* M. Janet has decided that the moment 
has arrived for setting forth with impartiality the 
work of philosophical restoration attempted by M. 
Cousin at the beginning of this century. He has 
fulfilled his task like a friend ; but friendship has 
not blinded him. Disparagement, after all, leads 
to the commission of as many errors as good will. 
An excellent principle in literary history is, to dis- 
trust all testimony, but, in the end, to believe 
friends rather than enemies. 

The oblivion which, in less than twenty years, 
has overtaken M. Cousin's work, is singular. This 
oblivion is unjust ; nevertheless, it can be explained 
on many grounds. It is not good for philosophy 
to win too complete victories. The Revolution of 
1830 was more fatal to M. Cousin than the narrow 
spirit of the Restoration had been. Once free, or, 
to express it more accurately, being obliged to 
translate into practice that which had been hitherto 
only a theory for him, he was forced to enter into 
^ Paris, Calmann Levy, 



ERNEST REN AN. 215 

the order of compromises and concessions ; he be- 
came an administrator of philosophy rather than a 
philosopher. The very sincere desire to found a 
philosophy which might be taught in the schools, 
and to replace the wretched manuals which had 
reigned hitherto, debased his genius. He fell into 
the chimera of a state philosophy, into the dream 
of a lay catechism, implying a double erroneous 
assumption ; the first that freethinkers would be 
content with it, the second, that it would enchant 
the Catholics. Now, neither the freethinkers nor 
the Catholics lent themselves to this misapprehen- 
sion. M. Cousin's condescension was wasted. His 
marvelous talent never abandoned him, but, by dint 
of seeing him preserve, for a period of nearly forty 
years, a prudent silence upon the problems which 
constitute the very essence of philosophy, people 
became unaccustomed to regard him as a philoso- 
pher ; the exquisite writer was prejudicial to the 
thinker ; he seemed to content himself so easily 
with official solutions that people began to doubt 
whether the thirst of the true had ever been an 
imperious necessity with him. 

And nevertheless, such were the complexity and 
hidden resources of his rich nature that the thinker 
had very readily existed in him, before the orthodox 
dogmatist. M. Janet excels in demonstrating 
this ; this constitutes the new and finely observed 
side of his book. There were two phases in the 
philosophical life of M, Cousin. The supreme end 



2 1 6 RECOLLECTIONS A ND LE TTERS OF 

of existence did not always consist, for him, in draw- 
ing up, in correct style, programmes appropriate to 
the use of Lyceums. At the origin of all this, there 
was a mind singularly open to all the sounds from 
without ; an eloquent and profound interpreter of 
all that had agitated the European conscience, a 
young enthusiast, intoxicated in his day with the 
ideal and with lofty speculation. His defects, then, 
are those of his time — a time preoccupied to excess 
with eloquence, with poetry, with worldly success ; 
— these are, above all, the defects of his masters, 
the Germans. The importance which he attributes 
to subjective idealism is exaggerated ; the attention 
devoted to the scientific knowledge of the universe 
is insufficient. But, athwart a host of defects, 
what a lofty sentiment of the infinite ! what a just 
view of the spontaneous and the unconscious ! 
what a religious accent, unheard since Male- 
branche, when he speaks of reason ! How well one 
understands the traces which men like Jouffroy 
retained of this first instruction ! I made acquaint- 
ance with the course of 1818 in its first edition, 
that of M. Adolphe Gamier, which is the genuine 
one, under the shadows of Issy, about 1842, The 
impression which it made upon me was extremely 
profound ; I knew those winged phrases by heart. 
I dreamed of them. I am conscious that many of 
the outlines of my brain are derived from that 
source, and that is why, without ever having be- 
longed to M. Cousin's school, I have always enter- 



ERNEST REN AN. 217 

tained for him the most respectful and the most 
deferential feelings. He has been not one of the 
fathers, but one of the exciters of my brain. 
Hence M. Janet is right in protesting against a 
sort of ingratitude to which generations are sub- 
ject when they enjoy full liberty on entering life. 
They forget how much courage has been required 
to lift a world of ignorance and prejudices ; they 
treat as weakness what was merely prudence ; they 
almost reproach Galileo and Descartes for not 
having smashed the windows of the Inquisition and 
the Sorbonne. The youth of our day can hardly 
understand any longer, in particular, what the 
years of reaction which followed 1848 were like — 
years when the enemies of the human mind reigned 
as masters. I knew M. Cousin about that epoch. 
Certainly, the effect which he then produced upon 
me was far less than that which I had felt at Issy 
when listening to the distant echo of his first word. 
I was more formed, less susceptible to captivation, 
and — he had lost the greater part of his fascinations. 
But what charm still ! what gayety ! what love of 
work ! what respect for the language, and what 
conscientiousness in research! I loved him twice, in 
a manner, and the man I went to salute at the Sor- 
bonne was not exactly the same who had troubled 
and enchanted me at Issy. But I always found him 
good, amiable, living exclusively the life of the 
spirit, sincerely liberal. Two classes of persons 
only could be severe toward him : in the first 



2i8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

place, the disciples whom he had enlisted, and who 
imagined that they could reconquer their inde- 
pendence by ingratitude ; then the rather heavy- 
witted, who took him quite seriously, and did not 
admit a grain of irony as one of his essential 
elements. 

In short, Victor Cousin was one of the most 
attractive personalities of the nineteenth century. 
I do not know whether he will hold a very great 
place in the critical history of philosophy con- 
ceived on the plan of Brucker or Tennemann ; 
but certainly he will fill a curious chapter of the 
French spirit at one of its most brilliant moments. 
It is a fact very honorable for the half-forgotten 
master that the first effort at reaction in his 
favor should come from so sincere a mind, and 
one so devoted to the truth, as M. Janet. Happy 
is he who is still sufficiently alive twenty years 
after his death to find so clever and so convinced 
an apologist. 



MADAME HORTENSE CORNU. 

A WEEK ago,* a few friends were assembled in 
the little church of Longport, near Montlhery, to 
pay the last respects to a woman who will leave a 
deep impression on all who knew her. Madame 
Hortense Cornu will occupy an important place in 
the history of our times, and, nevertheless, it has 
* June lo, 1875. 



ERNEST RE NAN. 219 

been granted to only a very small number to ap- 
preciate that rare mind, that noble heart, that phil- 
osophical soul, that rich nature in which the most 
varied gifts were united without contradiction. 
The seclusion in which she had lived for the last five 
years had caused her to be forgotten ; the ingrati- 
tude of some, the injustice of others had created a 
void about her ; she almost rejoiced in it ; she was 
too philosophical to seek, with death so near, any 
consolations save the memory of the good which 
she had done. 

Hortense Albin Lacroix was born in Paris, on the 
8th of April, 1809. Her mother was attached to the 
service of Queen Hortense. Her fate was full of pe- 
culiarities. One year previously, almost to a day, he 
who was destined to become the Emperor Napoleon 
III. was born in the same house. The two children 
grew up together and, dating from 18 15, became 
inseparable, received the same education. That 
which was lacking in this education was not knowl- 
edge on the part of the masters ; it was coherence, 
oversight, attention on the part of the parents and 
preceptors. Louis Napoleon was the same then 
that he was in later years ; a nature profound, 
dreamy, embarrassed, but strong and obstinate, in- 
capable of being turned aside from his fixed idea, 
incapable, also, of acquiring from without that 
which the sluggish and obscure movement of his 
own brain did not lead him to see himself. He 
possessed the inflexible will of the believer, the 



220 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

awkwardness of a man held by an evil spirit ; bis 
absolute lack of facility predestined him to em- 
brace energetically whatever he understood, but 
also never to understand a mass of things. The 
lessons which he received as a child were nearly 
useless to him ; the master did not consider it his 
duty to have recourse to long and patient methods 
to make his teaching penetrate a mind which was 
closed only in appearance, but into which one 
could enter only after having long sought the ap- 
proaches. 

It was quite otherwise with the little girl of 
twelve or thirteen years who listened beside him. 
There was no necessity for aiding her to under- 
stand ; the lessons were, in reality, for her. The 
house was vast, sad, solitary. Shut up alone, 
almost all day long, in a great schoolroom, the 
two children brought themselves up as best they 
might. In one hour Hortense had scampered 
through her task and that of her fellow-student, 
and the rest of the time was spent in exercises of 
strategy, for which the school books suffered. 
The tables, the chairs, the benches, became im- 
provised fortresses ; dictionaries served as pro- 
jectiles, and would to heaven that the Prince had 
always confined himself to such inoffensive ar- 
tillery as that ! 

The good and affectionate nature of Prince Na- 
poleon could not fail to attach to him the child 
who then shared his sort of seclusion. Hortense 



EkNESr RENAl^. 221 

Lacroix had precisely that which he lacked — move- 
ment, initiative, Hfe. Through her, the external 
universe made its way to him. Shut up, after the 
manner of a somnambulist, in a fantastic world, 
haunted even then by that sort of hallucination of 
the Napoleonic specter, which, like the ghost in 
Hamlet, was destined to lead him to the end of the 
narrow path beyond which there lies nothing but 
the abyss, the timid, headstrong, taciturn child 
had found a sister in this little comrade, who dared 
everything with him, astonished him, roused him, 
shook him up incessantly, giving him his education 
all by herself and serving as interpreter between him 
and the world of reality, Hortense Lacroix, at that 
age, was as intelligent as she ever was ; reason did 
not yet regulate in her that touch of the witty, revo- 
lutionary Paris street-Arab who divines what he 
has not yet learned. This charming little Ga- 
vroche, with her delicate features, was in every 
respect the contrary of the grave, gloomy, em- 
barrassed child, who could not express his 
thoughts, but whose inward characteristics and 
destiny were already fixed in an irrevocable man- 
ner. 

Although overthrown, the Bonaparte family 
kept up their relations with most of the reigning 
houses of Germany. Hortense Lacroix was early 
known to them, and singularly appreciated by 
them ; the Grand-Duchess Stephanie of Baden, in 
particular, cherished a lively affection for her. 



22 2 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

Germany was then at its moment of greatest philo- 
sophical and literary splendor. That beautiful 
and intelligent manner of understanding the cul- 
ture of the human mind left upon her a pro- 
found impression ; but she speedily descried its 
gaps and limits. Italy was what enchanted her 
most of all ; she was thoroughly intoxicated by it ; 
the taste for art awoke vigorously in her, and she 
conceived at that time, as the principal occupation 
of her life, a history of modern art, even to its 
most obscure pages. Her erudition rendered her 
perfectly fitted for this. The pages which she 
published on Italian art in the eighteenth volume 
of M. Didot's ** Encyclopedic Moderne," under the 
pseudonym of Sebastien Albin, have something 
very just and solid about them. She also planned 
some studies in iconography, in particular a "his- 
tory of the crucifix," which, however, I believe she 
never executed. 

Two youthful pupils of M. Ingres, who were 
then in Rome and frequented the palace inhabited 
by the Bonaparte family, knew her, and conceived 
for her the most lively attachment. Gleyre was 
her lifelong friend ; Sebastian Cornu married her. 
M. Cornu possessed precisely what was required 
for Hortense's happiness. This very conscien- 
tious and decisive artist was, at the same time, 
the gentlest and best of men. By his side, Hor- 
tense exercised freely her thoroughly masculine 
activity, without this tranquil, almost mystic friend 



ERNEST REN AN. 223 

after the manner of Flandrin, ever once being 
troubled by a vicinity, exquisite, no doubt, but 
which did not create precisely a desert around 
him. 

The fact is that no woman ever lived the 
elevated parts of the life of her century with so 
much ardor as Madame Cornu. Nothing escaped 
her. Her taste for conversation and discussion 
had led her to make acquaintance with all that 
was then in agitation in Italy and elsewhere. 
What her mind penetrated quickly, her heart em- 
braced with warmth. She thought like a man and 
felt lil*e a woman. Although extremely German 
in the turn of her intelligence, although half 
Italian by admiration and love of an unequaled 
past, she was essentially French in spirit. Her 
patriotism was the purest, the most disinterested, 
the most sincere that I have ever known. Her 
dream was a France, the center of the aspirations 
of the whole world. Her religion was the religion 
of France ; she was faithful to her, even when 
she perceived her passing errors and illusions. 

Now, at that epoch, France really had a re- 
ligion — it was liberalism, the taste for the noble de- 
velopment of humanity, esteem and sympathy for 
all that bears the features of a man, sympathy for 
all that is weak, persecuted, for all that seeks to 
rise, to free itself. Stupid that we are we did 
not dream that those whom our country aided 
most to escape from the other ^ world would soon 



2 24 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

say to her, like the scoffers of Calvary : " He has 
saved others, himself he cannot save. Let him 
now descend if he can ! " Madame Cornu, indif- 
ferent to the ingratitude which concerned only 
herself, but less indulgent to ingratitude toward 
others, could not recall without bitterness how 
many recent upstarts she had formerly seen sup- 
pliant and happy at receiving favors. Will these 
experiences correct us, and cause us to renounce 
the old virtues of whose habit we shall succeed 
in breaking the world ? It is hardly probable. 
We are too old to follow the maxims which the 
new leaders -of fashion seem to desire to inaugur- 
ate. If the final expression of wisdom and prog- 
ress in setting the rights of man and the rights 
of people at defiance ; in treating as chimerical 
all chivalry, all generosity, all gratitude be- 
tween nations ; in substituting for our clear and 
simple notion of liberty I know not what subtleties 
by means of which liberty is proved to consist in 
being as much governed as possible, for one's 
own good, yes, we prefer to be among the lag- 
gards rather than to serve such progress as that. 
Let us learn to wait ; some day we shall be regret- 
ted. The world has preferred a master to a ca- 
pricious mistress, who sometimes tormented it. 
Let it earn its experience. But let us remain 
obstinately liberal, even toward those who are 
not so themselves ; let us say, like Corneille's 
Pauline : 



ERNEST REN AN. 225 

My duty does not depend upon his ; 

Let him fail, if he will ; I must still do mine, 

Madame Cornu had committed all the noble er- 
rors of the days when she was young. She loved 
Italy, she loved Poland ; she had an aversion for 
what is strong, and a taste for the weak, even per- 
ceiving always in that very weakness a presumption 
of sound right. That is why she was generally on 
the side of those who conspired ; she sympathized 
with the revolutionists of all lands ; he who haz- 
arded his life for his cause was dear to her from 
that fact alone. In France, her relations were with 
the Republican party. At the epoch of her life 
which we have now reached, these sentiments had 
not created the slightest disagreement between her 
and the friend of her childhood. This was the 
time when the latter wrote : ''What we require in 
France is a government in harmony with our needs, 
our nature. Our needs are equality and liberty ; 
our nature is to be the ardent promoters of civiliza- 
tion." During his imprisonment at Ham, Prince 
Louis found ^i his childhood's friend more devo- 
tion than ever. The prince had a taste for histor- 
ical researches, and would have displayed some 
aptitude for them, had not his education been 
neglected. Madame Cornu constituted herself his 
secretary at a distance. She passed whole days in 
the libraries, copying passages for him, and em- 
ployed her numerous friends in procuring for him 
the books which he required. Never was friend- 



226 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

ship more free from any calculation. Who could 
foresee, in 1840, that, eight years later, that which 
had been madness would become wisdom in the 
eyes of five million and a half electors? 

Madame Cornu, in any case, was so far from 
agreeing with the counselors of illegal measures, 
that the 2d of December, 185 1, marked a com- 
plete rupture between her and her friend. For 
many years she ceased absolutely to see him. She 
denied herself no sprightly saying ; her little house 
on the Boulevard Latour-Maubourg was actively 
w^atched ; her name figured for a short time on the 
lists of exile compiled by an awkward zealot. It 
was impossible that this state of things should last 
long. The Emperor had need of his little friend 
of Augsburg and Arenenburg. She was a part of 
himself, an organ of his life. Madame Cornu's 
affection for the prince was too warm to keep her 
resentment from yielding at a sign. Moreover, she 
was like all the rest of us. She had an ideal which 
she placed above politics. What finer occasion 
could she have to realize the good which she had 
dreamed ? All favors were laid at her feet. It is 
unnecessary to say that she never accepted any- 
thing for herself; but from that moment she con- 
ceived the plan which absorbed her wholly for the 
next fifteen years : to seek to surround the Em- 
peror with better people, to recall to him the 
dreams of his youth, to arouse his liberal sympa- 
thies for suffering nations, to recall to him the 



ERNEST REMAN. 227 

Special bonds which united him with Italy. An 
excellent policy, but one in which persistence was 
necessary. It was not her fault that the hesita- 
tions of the Emperor's mind, that habit of his of 
believing that he must take a step backward for 
every step which he took forward, transformed into 
mortal poison that which should have been our 
safety and our strength. We shall, perhaps, some 
day regret that she who knew so well the intermit- 
tences of that singular mind, its tergiversations, 
its abrupt decisions which became fatally irre- 
vocable, did not calculate better the bearing of the 
effect which she produced through him. But who 
can foresee the unforeseeable? .... Moreover, it 
was in another direction that Madame Cornu was 
destined to render to her country eminent services 
whose memory will not perish. 

Madame Cornu's vigorous education and her 
long researches had made of her, literally, a savant. 
She loved the conversation of the erudite, and, 
beginning with 1856, she missed hardly a single 
session of the Academy of Inscriptions and Belles- 
Lettres. We regarded her as a colleague ; we dis- 
cussed with her the gaps in our studies, the many 
fine things to be done, the many reforms to be 
brought about. She understood everything, saw 
clearly what was possible and what was not. She 
had too much good judgment to believe that she 
had riveted fetters on the Emperor. That was not 
granted to anyone ; the solitary nature, the pro- 



228 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

found personality of Napoleon III. never permitted 
him to give himself wholly. He yielded much ; he 
was even weak ; " No " was the word which he 
found it hardest to utter ; but the foundation of 
his thought was unalterable. His own government 
displeased him, but he thought that France did 
not wish any other. Madame Cornu saw very well 
that it was impossible to change the groundwork 
of the government, and, above all, to persuade the 
Emperor to modify his official circle ; still, she saw 
that, by small concessions, much could be obtained, 
especially in the order of serious things where she 
was sure to disturb the designs of very few rivals 
at court. 

Superior instruction, or rather scientific instruc- 
tion, was the line in which she succeeded best. 
Her knowledge of Germany had revealed to her, 
before we had talked to her about it, the defect of 
our higher education, of those courses open to all 
comers, without definite pupils, where one goes to 
pass an hour, not to study a science, but to hear 
someone talk agreeably. Let the Faculties con- 
tinue the traditions of these excellent lessons; we 
have nothing to say against that ; but Athen^um 
lectures at the College de France seem to us out of 
place. The extraordinary brilliancy of the instruc- 
tion at the Sorbonne, under the Restoration ; the 
too great indulgence which talent lacking in science 
enjoyed during the reign of Louis Philippe ; the 
sharing of historical studies between the Academy 



ERNEST REN AN. 229 

of Moral and Political Sciences, and the Academy 
of Inscriptions and Belles-Lettres — which had the 
inconvenient feature that it allowed of the sup- 
position that, in historical sciences, general ex- 
position and work on documents can be sun- 
dered — and, above all, the taste which leads our 
country far more toward literary success than 
toward scientific discussions, had brought about in 
those of our institutions whose only aim is the dis- 
covery of the truth a certain abasement. Thanks 
to Madame Cornu, a renaissance took place. The 
creation of several courses — like those of M. Ber- 
thelot, of M. Leon Renier, of M. Breal, at the Col- 
lege of France, the establishment of the School 
for Higher Studies, many scientific missions — some 
of which were very fruitful — a new impulse imparted 
to the acquisition of objects of antiquity, a great 
number of learned publications undertaken with 
the justest feeling of the requirements of erudition, 
marked a new era. It is very far from our inten- 
tion to say that all this was her work ; but all this 
belonged to her indirectly, since it was under her 
influence that the Emperor entered into the direc- 
tion of ideas which rendered the second half of his 
reign a very brilliant epoch for critical studies. 
M. Duruy, whom Madame Cornu supported with 
all her credit, applied the same views in the most 
widely varying directions. At the present hour, 
the fruits are visible. An immense progress has 
been accomplished in our historical and philolog- 



230 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

ical studies. An authority has been established 
outside the elegant nonsense which fascinates the 
members of the fashionable world. Healthy meth- 
ods are represented in nearly all branches by some 
good worker. The School of Higher Studies is an 
open laboratory, where these methods are taught in 
familiar lessons, the only sort which are fruitful. 
I made some objection, at first, on this last point. 
" Why," 1 said, " create a new establishment under 
this title ? The School of Higher Studies has 
existed for three hundred and fifty years. Fran- 
cis I. created it in 1530; it is the College de 
France, since this great establishment represents 
exactly that scientific elaboration for which the 
University — principally a corps for teaching — does 
not suffice. Placed between the Sorbonne and our 
College, your school will be what is termed in ar- 
chitecture out of perpendicular." They did not 
halt £it this objection, and, no doubt, they did well. 
The Emperor found it easier to create new things 
than to reform that which was established, for the 
established defends itself ; being kindly by nature, 
the Emperor listened to all claims and, in order 
not to discontent anyone, took contradictory meas- 
ures, whence he afterward extricated himself only 
at the cost of a good deal of embarrassment. 

This was Madame Cornu's experience in the 
efforts which she essayed in behalf of the fine arts. 
Here she suffered almost complete shipwreck. Her 
taste was grand and pure ; she dreamed of an art 



ERNEST RE NAN. 231 

of the state, classic and grave, and could not en- 
dure the style of production which commerce en- 
courages. In art, as in literature, she was even a 
little unjust, perhaps, toward certain merits. In 
this direction she held, in the highest degree, the 
opinions of the Konapartes, which were essentially 
classic, intolerant, even, at times, which conceded no 
part to fancy, to petty literature, to romanticism, 
which were narrowly intrenched in Greek, Latin, 
and Italian tradition. I never could induce her to 
be just to Sainte-Beuve nor to one or two of the 
writers of ou» times, whose manner prevented her 
discerning their rare qualities. Art for the sake of 
art, literature for the sake of literature, were intol- 
erable to her. She did not admit that there could 
be lateral currents in the great stream of the 
human mind. Literature, in her eyes, was a com- 
bat for 'France and progress ; those who lingered 
by the hedgerows seemed to her deserters. 

As all this was in her the fruit of the love for things 
for their own sake, she resigned herself cheerfully 
to be frequently vanquished. She suffered two or 
three grand defeats from the Emperor ; but the 
nature of the friendship which the Emperor 
cherished for her could suffer no shock, nor did it 
permit of any susceptibility on her side. The 
kindness of her Majesty the Empress, her affection, 
her maternal cares for the Prince Imperial, the 
constant friendship of Prince Napoleon, of the 
Princess Julie Bonaparte, of her Majesty the 



232 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Queen of Holland rendered her happy and sus- 
tained her in her trials. 

The lamentable act of the month of July, 1870, 
overturned all these dreams. She did not see the 
Emperor during those gloomy days, and, had she 
seen him, she probably could not have pierced the 
fatal mist in which that brain, whose weaknesses 
she knew so well, had shut itself up. At the be- 
ginning of the war she withdrew to a little house 
which she owned at Longpont. There M. Cornu 
was attacked by a serious illness ; he died while 
being transported to Versailles. An affection of 
the heart had made its appearance in her some 
time previously ; in a few months she grew twenty 
years older. She was much neglected, as she 
might have expected. This woman, to whom so 
many people owed their lives and fortunes, found 
herself in a state bordering on privation. She had 
nothing but her house at Longpont, which was in- 
significant in value. If some of her friends had 
not made her understand that her poverty would 
be an insupportable reproach to them, she would 
have died in destitution. 

Her lofty idealism never weakened for a moment 
in her cruel illness. During the last days, the 
struggle between a strong and powerful head, still 
all alive, and annihilated organs, was terrible. In 
bidding farewell to one of her friends, she said : 

" Tell Marguerite [a young girl of eighteen] that 
dying is no great matter ; only it is very long." 



ERNEST RE NAN. 233 

Who, more than she, deserved to leave life calmly ? 
She did a great deal of good ; the good that she 
did survives her, and will bear fruit without ceas- 
ing ; all her friends will keep her image preciously 
engraved upon their hearts. 



QUEEN SOPHIE OF HOLLAND.* 

The death of Queen Sophie of Holland is a great 
grief to all those who love France, as well as all 
good and beautiful things. " ' The Last of the 
Great Princesses,' that is the title of the study 
that ought to be published of her," said to me yes- 
terday one of the men who knew her best, and who 
alone could relate all the sincerity, disinterested 
ardor, lofty aspirations in this choice soul, who 
was the victim, in so many respects, of our century 
of iron. She possessed, in fact, in the highest de- 
gree, the qualities which the throne exalts but does 
not create. Modern philosophy, which makes the 
destiny of man consist in a perpetual effort toward 
reason, cannot always be suitable to those whom 
fate has vowed to humble duties ; it is, above all, 
the philosophy of sovereigns. 

Queen Sophie, uniting with this the delicate tact 
of the v^roman, replied victoriously to those who be- 
lieve that the sole perfection of ruins is the tender 
and heedless grace of a Marguerite de Provence, 
or the resignation of a Jeanne de Valois. 
*Died May 25, 1877. 



234 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

She belonged to that grand epoch of the German 
race in which so many strong qualities, masked for 
centuries by roughness or a sort of awkwardness, 
suddenly reached the point of revealing a form of 
human aristocracy hitherto unknown. That which 
characterized, in the highest degree, this new mode 
of feeling and thinking, was warmth of soul, a cer- 
tain nobility, generosity, strength, implying respect 
for one's self and for others. French society of the 
seventeenth and eighteenth centuries had furnished 
the model for what may be called politeness — en- 
lightened mind. Goethe and his great contempo- 
raries, while paying homage to our brilliant initiative, 
demonstrated that Voltaire, despite his well-de- 
served glory, was not everything ; that the heart is 
a master to whom it is as necessary to listen as to 
the mind. Religion no longer consisted of servile 
attachment to the superstitions of the past, nor to 
the narrow forms of a theological orthodoxy ; it 
was the infinite, vividly comprehended, embraced, 
realized in all one's life. Philosophy was no longer 
something dry and negative ; it was the pursuit of 
the truth in all its branches, with the certainty that 
the truth to be discovered would be a thousand 
times more beautiful than the error which it re- 
placed. Such a scheme of wisdom renders him 
who possesses it ardent and strong. The virile 
education which Queen Sophie received at the 
Court of Wurtemberg, her rich and open nature^ 
early inculcated upon her those grand principles, 



ERNEST RENAN. 235 

as a faith, but a faith which does not know what it 
is to reject or hate. 

Her whole existence was permeated with it. The 
German Spirit then resembled Jehovah, who, ac- 
cording to the fine expression of Job, *' maketh 
peace upon his high places." They did not wish 
to destroy anything, they sought to conciliate every- 
thing. The queen remained faithful to this spirit, 
even when it had been rejected by many of those 
who had proclaimed it. She showed herself anx- 
ious to welcome every good thing that blossomed 
in the whole world. National prejudice was what she 
feared the most ; far from penning up the moral 
education of man in the notions of one race and 
one language, she dreamed, like Herder, of a recip- 
rocal interchange of all the gifts of humanity. 
Her sympathy halted only in the presence of the 
mediocre and the evil ; then she no longer under- 
stood. 

Thus her whole life was passed in loving. She 
loved first the noble country which had her for its 
sovereign, and which, better than any other, knew 
her mind and her goodness. She loved Holland, 
not only because fate had made it her duty, but be- 
cause she perceived at once the providential char- 
acter of this sacred estuary, the asylum of liberty ; 
where the human mind had so often found a refuge 
against the overstrong powers of the rest of 
Europe. Who can say that it will not have to ful- 
fill this mission yet again ? Holland heartily re- 



236 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

turned her affection. Never wassovereign more pop- 
ular. No one understood better than she the soul 
of the nation, its past grandeur, its future duties. 
She was proud of being associated with so much 
glory, and when, a few days hence, she reposes at 
Delft, by the side of the Taciturn whom she ad- 
mired, her tomb will be one seal the more to the 
compact of union between Holland and the house of 
Orange, that is to say, to the fundamental chart of. 
the nationality of the country. 

She loved France also. On the day of her mar- 
riage, in 1839, at Stuttgart, the Protestant clergy- 
man who preached saw fit to spice his sermon with 
a diatribe against Napoleon. A young man of 
seventeen years, the first cousin to the princess, 
who was present, rose and left the building. This 
was a scandal, a great affair in the little court. 

" If I had been able, 1 should have done as he 
did," said she. The grandeur of the French 
epopee, consisting of two indissoluble parts, the 
Revolution and the Empire, had early taken posses- 
sion of her imagination. She loved us with all 
our defects. Our writers, our artists, our wits were 
familiar to her ; she often knew them better than 
we did ourselves. She was even curious about our 
democracy. She feared so greatly to pass by, in- 
attentively, anything which might have a future I 
Poor France ! she forgave her, because she knew 
that a great heart lay behind her faults, and that 
one day the prodigal son would be preferred to 
those who had never sinned, 



ERNEST RENAN. «37 

It was thus that this great queen, the most Ger- 
man of the princesses of our century probably, had 
had nothing but sympathy for what fanatics call 
the race enemy. She loved both France and Ger- 
many, and she was right. Noble things, far from 
excluding each other, hold each other, summon 
each other, and we maintain that the great Ger- 
mans of former days would recognize much more 
as their true sons in spirit those who, for the last 
ten years, have protested against a violent policy, 
than those who allow themselves to be dazzled by 
these exhibitions of force. The queen suffered 
cruelly on the day when she saw what she had 
adored as an aspiration toward justice become the 
brutal negation of all ideal principles. German 
unity had been her dream ; but she desired it to 
be brought about otherwise. She hardly recog- 
nized the Germany of her youth in that imitation 
of the defects of our First Empire, in that transcend- 
ent disdain of all generosity, in that fashion of 
reproaching others for imitating those fine exam- 
ples of internal reform which Germany, in its fine 
days, gave to all peoples. 

That ardent life consumed itself ; a sort of in- 
ward fire devoured that nature which nothing ever 
left untouched. It is not that the queen did not 
know how to take rest. Her tranquil Maison du 
Bois, near The Hague, breathed calm and serene 
gayety. The historical studies in which she de- 
lighted, and by which she sought to distract her 



238 RE COLLE C TIONS A JSfD LE TTER S OF 

thoughts from apprehensions of the present, fur- 
nished an excellent regimen for her mind. Never- 
theless, grave symptoms made their appearance in 
connection with the heart. In the month of 
December last, when the queen beheld Paris for 
the last time, her friends were alarmed. The 
sweet and tranquil atmosphere of The Hague re- 
stored her somewhat. A festival, organized by 
some friends of philosophy to celebrate the anni- 
versary of Spinoza's death, interested her greatly. 
She wished to take part in it in spirit, and caused a 
portrait of the Dutch thinker, which never quitted 
her chamber, and is probably the only authentic 
one of him, to be exhibited in the hall of the re- 
union. That evening she mentioned the sage's 
fine maxim : " Philosophy is meditation, not on 
death but on life." Her death has been a public 
calamity to Holland. We shall, perhaps, medi- 
tate upon her life some day, when it will be pos- 
sible, in thinking of her, to devote a share to some- 
thing besides grief and regret. 



SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE FUNERAL OF M. 
ERNEST HAVET, DECEMBER 24, 1 889. 

Gentlemen: The illustrious colleague to whom 
we to-day bid farewell was an eminent servant of 
the greatest work of our century, the persistent 
search of the truth. This savant was, before all 



ERNEST RENAH. 239 

else, an upright man of French race. Like Des- 
cartes, he liked only clear ideas clearly expressed. 
The genius of Germany (when one could speak of 
a German genius) pierced more deeply, perhaps, 
into the abysses which hem us in so closely ; but 
Havet will be quoted, in the centuries to come, for 
having been the first to cast upon the problems 
which have troubled souls the most, a few just, 
firm, sober, and cold words. He believed, and I 
believe with him, that the era of official veils is 
passed, that it serves no end to make a distinction 
between the truths which are good for utterance 
and those which are not good, since no one is de- 
ceived any longer, and since -the mass of the hu- 
man species, reading the eyes of the thinker, 
demands of him, without circumlocution, whether 
the truth is not, at bottom, melancholy. The only 
means of consoling poor humanity a little, is to 
■persuade it thoroughly that we are concealing 
nothing from it, and that we are treating it, not as 
rhetoricians occupied with political and pedagogi- 
cal cares, but as learned men, with absolute sin- 
cerity. 

Ifavet never concealed a shade, even a fugitive 
shade, of his thought. He believed in civilization, 
in reason, in that light of the human conscience 
which reveals to us some features of the truth, 
some rules of good. For him the history of this 
revelation, the only real one, was clear in its essen- 
tial lines. Born in Greece, that motherland of all 



240 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

harmonies, reason, under divers names and not 
without strange alloys, makes the circuit of the 
world. That sun, of which Rome in its grand 
epoch possessed such fine reflections, never disap- 
pears completely. Humanity lives upon it. The 
supernatural ideas of the Orient, the decadence of 
the ancient world, the invasions of the barbarians, 
veil it but do not extinguish it. Christianity, in its 
vital parts, is only a viaticum composed of good 
Greek ideas and cleverly prepared for the gloomy 
night of a thousand years to which the dawn of the 
Renaissance put an end. Thus all proceeds from 
a single luminous blossoming. Greece prepared 
the scientific framework, capable of being indefi- 
nitely enlarged, and the philosophical framework, 
susceptible of embracing everything, in which, for 
the space of two thousand years, the intellectual 
and moral efforts of the race to which we belong 
have not ceased to move. 

Let us set aside then all petty reserves (I, as the 
historian of Israel, should have some to make) ; 
our colleague is in the right. Greek culture de- 
mands no 'sacrifice from the reason ; the culture 
which comes from the East does demand it, since 
no fact has ever appeared to prove that a Superior 
Being has made to a man or to men any revelation 
whatever. The idea [to kalon) of Greece is indeed 
the whole of human life, embellished, ennobled. 
It was Havet's task to follow this great ribbon of 
living water, this blue Nile which traverses the 



ERNEST RE NAN. ^41 

deserts. He acquitted himself of it with a sort of 
faith. Never was believer more faithful to his 
dogma than was Havet to his philosophy. 

Yes, I -repeat it, he was right. Greece created 
truth as she created beauty. On the other hand, 
our Celtic and Germanic races have certainly had 
some share in founding that which may be called 
honesty, uprightness of heart. All the best that is 
contained in Christianity we have put there, and 
that is why we love it, that is why it must not be 
destroyed. Christianity, in one sense, is decidedly 
our work, and in seeking therein the traces of our 
most intimate sentiments, Havet was not pursuing 
a chimera. Christianity is ourselves, and what we 
love the most in it is ourselves. Our fresh, cool 
fountains, our forests of oaks, our rocks have col- 
laborated in this. In the order of the things of 
the soul, our charity, our love of men, our tender 
and delicate feeling for woman ; the suave and 
subtle mysticisn of a Saint Bernard or a Francis 
d'Assisi, spring rather from our ancestors, possibly 
pagans, than from the egotist David, or the exter- 
minator Jehu, or the fanatic Esdras, or the strict 
observer Nehemiah. 

Havet comprehended all this marvelously, and 
expressed it in perfect style. His book on " The 
Origins of Christianity," which treats only one side 
of the subject, treats it in a definitive manner. It 
is an inflexible book. Havet believes in the true ; 
he makes no compromises. Tell him that, in re- 



^4^ RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

jecting those old, traditional beliefs, we shall reject 
at the same time, many excellent things ; that 
these conventions, beloved and accepted, are the 
postulates of life, as it were ; he will tell you that 
pretended social unity cannot be taken as the 
measure of the investigation of matters. The first 
approach to truth is rarely agreeable. Down to 
the present day, no one has been right with im- 
punity. The Greek who dared to say that the sun 
might be as large as the Peloponnesus was treated 
not only as a madman but as a malefactor. The 
moderate considered him a false, exaggerated mind ; 
he was put to death, it is said. That no longer 
happens in our day. Havet was reviled by all 
routines in coalition, by the secret league of all 
weaknesses ; he stood his ground, remained calm, 
and ended by carrying the day. 

Honor then, gentlemen, to this illustrious friend 
of the truth ! He was one of the glories of our 
race. He felt all the legitimate needs of his cen- 
tury, without participating in any of its faults. 
His grand soul traversed the world with no other 
care than that of the truth. The seductions, the 
bewitching charms of probability, did not attract 
him. He loved only the certain ; miracles escaped 
his notice, he beheld only that which lasts — 
reason. The triumph of reason will be his recom- 
pense. A recompense ! To tell the truth, we 
desire none. We have served the truth under the 
hard conditions imposed by fate upon the human 
race. That is our recompense, we desire no other. 



ERNEST RENAN. ^43 

Nil nisi te^ domine ; nil nisi te — Nothing but Thee, 
O Lord ; nothing but Thee. 

Farewell, dear colleague. You have fought the 
good fight, the fight for the true, for reason. We 
shall wait long, no doubt, for the triumph of our 
cause. But we have eternity in which to wait. 
Our ancestors of the College of France, who 
founded the true, in the midst of persecution and 
poverty, saw very different sights : Ramus, who 
got himself killed for supporting the correct- 
ness of the principles of our institute ; Denys 
Lambin, who beheld his fate written in that of 
Ramus ; many modest " professors of tongues," 
as we were called, who braved the haughty Sor- 
bonne of those days ! More happy than they, 
we shall have perceived the true, without suf- 
fering much for it. Moreover, is not your fate 
worthy of envy? In a funeral inscription found in 
Syria, the passer-by is supposed to console the 
dead in these words : " Courage, since you died 
without having to lament any of your children, 
and since you leave in life the wife whom you 
loved ! " 

This last happiness was not reserved to you ; the 
loss of a wife who was worthy of you was one of 
the griefs which darkened your last years. But 
you. leave behind you two sons whom we love, 
the heirs of your method and of your learning. 
You leave a completed work, by which all friends 
of the true will know how to profit. Courage, 
dear Havet, couragfe ! 



244 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

SPEECH AT THE FUNERAL OF M. CUVILLIER- 
FLEURY, OCTOBER 21, 1 88 7. 

How many afflictions, blow upon blow, gen- 
tlemen ! After the eminent moralist, after the 
faithful and impartial historian, to-day it is our 
dean in age, the critic of high authority, the excel- 
lent judge of things of the mind, who has been 
taken from us. During his long existence of 
eighty-five years, M. Cuvillier-Fleury lived only in 
the love of letters, of that repose of spirit which 
they give, in the faith in good which they inspire. 
It is the glor}'' of the ancient literatures of Greece 
and Rome, that they have been able, through the 
worships of which they have been the objects for 
the last four centuries, to furnish noble lives 
with the very principle of their nobility — to have 
concealed, beneath the charms of beautiful lan- 
guage, a powerful leaven of moral education and 
of sound philosophy. Early devoted to the edu- 
cation for which his precocious successes desig- 
nated him, M. Cuvillier-Fleury did not ask of liter- 
ature only the amusement of his hours of leisure, 
the least vain of the satisfactions of vanity. He 
sought in it the rule of reason and the consolation 
of life. And the rule which he found in it was 
good. Cicero, in ancient times, had set the exam- 
ple of associating with letters an elevated sentiment 
of nobility and uprightness. Our ancient univer- 



ERNEST RENAN. 245 

sity had no other creed than that. Those old pro- 
fessors were honest men. They appreciated all 
the exercises of the mind by the good which they 
did to the soul, by the efficacy which they exhibited 
in preparing good men. They formed few learned 
men ; but they did form liberal men, and amiable 
men, which is also something. An excellent school, 
from the point of view of education ! Education 
is a work of the heart, not of erudite refinements. 
Where should we be, had humanity sought in the 
Gospel only a curious linguistic document, instead 
of seeking there the aliment of the soul and the 
book of the heart ? 

Liberalism was the religion of that excellent 
generation. M. Cuvillier-Fleury and his contem- 
poraries had the happiness of starting out with the 
triumph of their ideas. The aspirations of their 
youth were fully satisfied before the moment of. 
disappointment arrived. They were victorious at 
their hour, after having deserved their victory ; 
they beheld a liberal and enlightened monarchy, the 
complete reign of that of which they had dreamed. 
When the vicissitudes which human things cannot 
escape arrived they could say: " I have lived." 
They had not to endure the harsh grief which 
other generations have suffered, of seeing them- 
selves stifled before birth, of being blighted in 
their flower. The strong and brilliant life which 
filled the interval from 1830 to 1848 was lived 
through entire by our colleague. Summoned, by 



246 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

the dynasty which liberal France had imposed on 
herself, to the most delicate functions, he. showed 
himself worthy of such a mark of confidence. 
The culture of his whole life had prepared him 
admirably for this task. His principles were so 
well defined that on the day after the catastrophe 
which seemed to put them in the wrong, they re- 
mained the same that they had been on the day of 
battle. " I honestly confess," said our well-beloved 
colleague, M. de Sacy, one of the most worthy 
companions-in-arms of M. Cuvillier-Fleury, " I 
have not changed. Far from being shaken in my 
convictions, reflection, age, and experience have 
confirmed me in them. I believe in right and jus- 
tice, as I believed in them in my most artless youth- 
ful period. I am happy to take up in letters, in 
philosophy, in everything which pertains to the do- 
main of conscience and pure thought, that princi- 
ple of liberty which circumstances have adjourned 
in politics. That is what we shall try to do in the 
Journal des Debats. Possessing different shades of 
taste and opinion, it is the mind which will rally 
us all together." M. Cuvillier-Fleury could have 
said this quite as well as his friend. Those old 
masters, who are decried nowadays, were pro- 
foundly versed in the art of educating souls. And 
what pupils they formed ! You know one of them, 
gentlemen, since he is our colleague. How is it 
possible for me not to speak of him over this grave, 
of him whom M. Cuvillier-Fleury called his best 



ERNEST REN AN. 247 

work, of him who will count his absence from this 
ceremony as one of the bitter consequences of 
exile, a thing which is always so bitter in itself? 
The perfect naturalness of the honest man, that 
pure and sincere manner of writing, that passionate 
sentiment for France and all her glories, that 
amenity, that delicate taste of literary knowledge, 
of those qualities, M. le Due D'Aumale desired 
that a portion of all this should be attributed to his 
preceptor. Let it be according to his will ! What 
more touching, more honorable for both, than this 
sentiment of exquisite friendship which the master 
felt for his pupil and the pupil for his master? 
One of the most beautiful spectacles of our century 
has been furnished by this esteem, this reciprocal 
respect, which carry us back to the fine days of 
Quintilian, as RoUin understood him : the pupil 
recognizing the fact that he owed to his master the 
notion of the serious in life ; the master, under the 
appearance of oratorical preoccupation solely, being 
dominated by anxiety for uprightness and honesty. 
Oh, great and holy school of educators, I fear that 
the pedantic methods of modern pedagogy will find 
it difficult to fill your place. 

And, when M. Cuvillier-Fleury had completed 
his task of educator, how well he understood the 
art of continuing it, in the view of the literary pub- 
lic, by those articles in the *' Miscellanies " of the 
Journal des Debats, which reserved for initiated 
readers such delicate enjoyment and such useful 



'248 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

guidance ! Our colleague's criticism was a perpet- 
ual lesson in good sense. It was the criticism of 
an honest man, founded upon rectitude of judg- 
ment, the taste for naturalness in everything, with 
extreme indulgence for whatever departed from 
his rule, and a secret taste for the qualities which 
were not those that he recommended. Here, again, 
Quintilian was his model, and the latter's dulcia 
vitia, which the latter found in Seneca, bear a 
strong resemblance to the brilliant defects which 
our colleague blamed, while forced, at times, to 
love them. 

He loved ardently that which he believed to be 
true. He served it with speech as well as with pen. 
His conversation was very much alive ; he took 
great pains with it, for it was one means of accent- 
uating the conviction which he bore within him. 
Oh ! what a good house the Journal des Ddbats 
was then, and what a memory we retain of those 
amiable jousts of words, in which M. de Sacy, and 
the friend who goes to-day to join him, indulged in 
a combat of wit, spirit, and good nature ! At the 
Academy the tourney began again, and it was in- 
offensive ; for both broke lances in the same cause. 
Everything which was good, noble, generous, made 
their hearts vibrate. Their patriotism was pure as 
the thought of a child. Above all-, they beheld 
France : they believed in her, they adored her. 
Poor France ! It is impossible that she should 
perish ; she has been too much beloved ! 



ERNEST RENAN. 249 

The literary faith which animated M. Cuvillier- 
Fleury sustained him to the end. The gift of long 
life was accorded to him, his appetite for beautiful 
things and his taste for society suffered cruel re- 
verses ; an almost complete blindness separated 
him partly from life — the life which he loved so well. 
He supported this cruel trial with admirable 
courage. His solitude, or, rather, his foretaste of 
the eternal shadows, was, moreover, greatly 
softened. The noble and devoted companion of 
his life redoubled the miracles of vigilant tender- 
ness with which she surrounded him, and calmed 
his sufferings, as has been very well said, by the 
graces of her mind and the inexhaustible delicacies 
of her heart. 

Farewell, dear colleague and friend, 1 recall that 
one day I was attacked in the Debats^ I do not 
know very well why — perhaps rightly. I still hear 
you say in an aside to M. de Sacy : *' We must up- 
hold our young colleague." The young colleague, 
dear master, will soon follow you, perhaps. Life is 
only a shadow ; one gives to that shadow a certain 
reality by devoting one's self, as you have done, to 
the persistent seeking for that which is straight- 
forward, simple, just, and pure. 



2SO RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

SPEECH DELIVERED AT THE INAUGURATION 
OF THE STATUE OF M. ABOUT, DECEMBER 
20, 1887. 

Here, indeed, gentlemen, are those features 
which we loved ! Here is the smile which fluttered 
upon the lips of our colleague, when he was writ- 
ing all those charming works ; here is that open 
countenance, on which was to be read, at the first 
glance, the philosophy, at once ironical and amiable, 
which sustained him in his career of ardent activity. 
What a rich nature, gentlemen, what a superabund- 
ance of vigor ! What a joy it was for us, during 
those years of sadness which marked the middle of 
our century, to behold this brilliant young man 
enter the lists of the great battles, this true son of 
Voltaire, in whom the old French spirit, that which, 
though conquered, always comes to life again, 
seemed to jeer merrily at those who had believed 
it to be dead, and to cry : *' I still live ! " Yes, 
among the many illustrious newcomers in the field, 
thanks to whom our country, humiliated by so 
many badly concerted revolutions and blind re- 
actions, was able to respond, after 1858, to the 
challenges which were addressed to her. About 
was the one who continued our ancient tradition 
with the least alloy. He possessed the dominat- 
ing quality of the French mind, honest straight- 
forwardness, clearness. Voltaire was, above all 



ERNEST REN AN. 251 

things, an honest mind ; About was so, also, in the 
highest degree. To demand of such men that 
they shall eternally wear a mask upon their faces, 
accept with docility the conventions, often puerile, 
submission to which is but a small merit in the 
majority of people, is to demand of the light that 
it shall not proceed in a straight line. The atmos- 
phere in which they dwell is absolutely transparent ; 
mystery has no meaning for them ; like the electric 
light, they search all the crannies and render false- 
hood difficult ; it is impossible for them not to 
stigmatize the absurdities which they perceive. 

Is this egotism, coldness ? Oh, no ! certainly 
not. These pitiless adversaries of falseness and 
subdued lights love the truth. Hypocrisy inspires 
in them a real nausea ; dogmas which flee the light 
irritate them. To every proposition to dissimulate 
what they think they reply : " What is the use of 
living if one has no longer any cause for living? " 

A strong love, moreover, a dominating love was 
the moral principle of that soul which superficial 
critics have characterized as frivolous. It was the 
love of this poor France, to whom he owed the best 
that was in him. The parties which succeeded 
each other in power, with disheartening rapidity, 
would have liked to have him refuse to survive 
them, in order that he might remain faithful to 
them. But France still existed for him, after the 
ruin of parties. His patriotism contrived to be 
both eloquent and courageous in the days of trial. 



252 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

France was the fairy who had endowed hini, who 
had crowned him, so long as it was in her power to 
confer crowns. When she had no longer anything 
to distribute to those who loved her, except signs 
of mourning, About vowed himself to a sadness 
for which he refused to be consoled. He conceived 
suspicions even of his talent, which might have 
served to distract him. The dainty writer of for- 
mer days became a fighter of journalistic battles. 
He grew bitter, sometimes mis.understood his 
friends, irritated his enemies. 

Wrath is a bad councilor, gentlemen, even when 
it is most just. The worst feature in the condition 
of the conquered is, that his situation condemns 
him to deceive himself. He becomes exacting 
suspicious, susceptible. If About sometimes allowed 
himself to be led astray by false judgments of this 
sort he was himself their chief victim. Ah ! great 
asperity of our time ! Adversaries rend each 
other, scorn each other. Judging from their 
extreme severity toward each other, one would be- 
lieve that they are virtuous, and, nevertheless, if a 
true moral sentiment inspired their attacks, they 
would be indulgent. Oh ! when shall we behold a 
temple erected to reciprocal pardon and oblivion ? 
To tell the truth, I fear that the temple of my 
dreams is the cemetery. It is only there that peace, 
which is, after all, only a chimera, becomes a 
reality. I think that we shall soon say, with Eccle- 
siastes : " Happy are the dead ! " 



ERNEST RENAN. 253 

Our colleague did not receive even that rec- 
ompense which old fighters generally enjoy, of 
looking on, tranquilly, toward the end of their 
lives, at the battles of others. At the moment 
when he was about to take possession of the chair 
to which your votes had called him, death came to 
take him. We did not have the joy of seeing him 
sit among us. The battle of life has assumed 
such asperity in our day that we no longer pick 
up the dead. Thanks to you, gentlemen, thanks 
to the talent of the artist, whose work has just 
been revealed to you, the future will salute, in this 
place, the true image of one of the men who have 
added the most, in our epoch, to that mass of 
reason which, although still feeble, is augmented 
from century to century by the efforts of all great 
souls and all good spirits. Behind the clouds 
which gather there is still a blue sky, there are 
still warm rays. When the hour of impartiality 
shall have arrived, many adversaries will recognize 
the fact that they have toiled at the same task 
without knowing it. Then will all proclaim that 
About was one of those who have loved the most, 
at a critical hour, if ever there was one, both 
progress and liberty. 



254 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 



LETTER TO M. GUSTAVE FLAUBEBT ON THE 
''TEMPTATION OF SAINT ANTHONY."* 

Venice, September 8, 1874. 
My Dear Frie?id : Yesterday, at the Labbia 
palace, Tiepolo's scenes from the life of Cleopatra 
made me think of your " Temptation of St. 
Anthony," which has been so unjustly criticised. 
Three years ago, my beloved and regretted Arnold 
made me understand the brilliancy, life color, and 
individual originality of these frescoes. Did Tie- 
polo intend to give a lesson in history, a lesson 
in morals, a lesson in archaeology, or a lesson in 
politics ? Did he undertake to raise or lower 
Antony and Cleopatra ? Was he accused of hav- 
ing failed in respect for the royal majesty, which 
was compromised in a festival of equivocal appear- 
ance ? No ; he opened to the imagination a bril- 
liant dream. That was enough ; neither archae- 
ologist nor moralist, neither historian nor pol- 
itician, have any fault to find. Nothing is bad 
in art, save that which has neither style nor con- 
struction : 

Pictoribus atque poetis 
Quidlibet audiendi semper fuit sequa potestas.f 

People no longer understand it in that way. 
The weakening of the imagination tends to create 

* This article has never been published, 
f Painters and poets have always possessed equal powers of 
making themselves heard. 



ERNEST RENA^. ^55 

for the written, in comparison with the painted, 
work an inequality of treatment which we cannot 
accept. Callot and Teniers did what you have 
done ; they hesitated at nothing, and no one 
blamed them. The "Temptations " of Callot and 
Teniers teach nothing in the line of history, prove 
nothing in the department of morals, refute noth- 
ing in politics. They did not try to preach, to 
improve, to instruct, any more than you. Their 
aim was not, any more than yours has been, to 
prove that profound faith triumphs over the most 
violent assaults. They were not reproached with 
being bad painters of saints, with having dis- 
honored St. Anthony. Callot and Teniers are 
jesters. You are fantastic. The one should be as 
much permitted as the other ! "A Midsummer- 
night's Dream " has its rights, by the side of the 
Gallic farce and the laughter of Voltaire, which 
have their rights also. If I had still been writing 
for the papers when your book appeared, I should 
have tried to controvert these errors. One person 
insisted that you had undertaken to write a history 
of gnosticism, and thought that a good summary 
would have been of more value ; another con- 
sidered that you had given a bad rendering of 
St. Anthony's biography ; one declared that 
your secret idea had been to inculcate a system of 
philosophy. In our land people insist that a book 
shall instruct, edify, or amuse .... really amuse, 
cause laughter. The thing which, above all others, 



256 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

is amusing and philosophical, the contemplation 
of reality, the spectroscopy of the universe, is but 
little understood. People will not admit that the 
nightmare has a charm of its own. They grant 
it in painting; they admit "Salome" or " The 
Executioners " of Henri Regnault, works which, 
assuredly, teach nothing whatever, and which do 
not awaken any agreeable image. How much 
nearer right was Boileau, that great artist in form : 

II n'est pas de serpent ni de monstre odieux 
Qui, par Tart imite, ne puisse plaire aux yeux.* 

That great consoler of life, imagination, has one 
special privilege, which makes of it, all things con- 
sidered, the most precious of gifts ; it is that its 
sufferings are pleasures. With it everything is 
projEit. It is the base of the soul's health, the 
essential condition of gayety. It makes us enjoy 
the folly of fools and the wisdom of sages. The 
Greeks took pleasure in the cave of Trophonius, 
evidently, since they resorted thither. If the 
nocturnal revels were true, I do not say that I 
should care to go there ; that is contrary to the 
rules of Conduct which I have imposed upon 
myself, but I should desire that there should be 
people who would go there, and I would read then 
with pleasure the vividly colored books which they 
would make out of it. 

* There is no serpent nor odious monster which may not 
please when imitated by art. 



ERNEST REN AN. ^^1 

People forget that one-half of Greek literature, 
that marvel, that rule of the beautiful, when it is 
understood, is only chased work and imagination. 
What does an idyl of Theocritus prove ? What 
aim did that charming poet propose to himself, 
three-quarters of the time ? The aim that our 
friend Theophile Gautier had ; to find a theme 
with fine images, with adorably made verses. In 
the first idyl, thirty-five verses are consecrated to 
the description of a porringer with a realism which 
outdoes anything that the school of our day 
has ever dared attempt. Has Bion's '^ Tombeau 
d'Adonis " any object, moral, historical, or politi- 
cal ? And the " Metamorphoses " of Ovid, that de- 
licious series of noble and enchanting images, pro- 
foundly connected with nature, each one of which 
evokes a thousand questions, without solving them 
. . . . I really believe that, if a poet in our day were 
to make a masterpiece of .this sort, there would be 
found critics to say to him : " Capricious childish- 
ness, what do you want with us ! " Alas ! our 
public is like one of those of which your Apol- 
lonius speaks : " It believes, like a brute, in the 
reality of things." When an art shall have been 
constructed upon that basis, I shall believe ; until 
then, it will remain for me the reasoning of Blem- 
myes, of pygmies, of sciapods. Do you know what 
M. Hugo thinks of your book ? It is said that, in 
addition to his genius, he possesses remarkable 
discernment in matters of taste. 



^S^ RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Because the procession of the dreams of humanity 
resembles a masquerade, at times, that is no reason 
for interdicting its presentation. Poor humanity ! 
Oh ! the further I go, the more I love it, and the 
more esteem I feel for it. How it toils ! Setting 
out from such a depth, what great or charming 
things it has drawn from its bosom ! " Oh ! what 
a good animal man is ! " Among all these sacred 
follies, there is not one which does not possess its 
touching side, which does not redeem our race and 
the spirits which it bears. Even irony is a cult ; 
comedy is the act of an aristocrat, which Louis XIV., 
great centuries, great peoples, alone can permit 
themselves. What ! it pleases this noble, so tried 
by fate, this poor man so battered by storms, to turn 
his attention for a moment from his destiny, to 
amuse himself with a review of his chimeras, to 
laugh for an hour, before he resumes his weeping, 
and people consider him wicked ! I persist in be- 
lieving that this martyr suffers for something, that 
he win have his recompense some day. But every- 
one has his hours of doubt ; at those hours, noth- 
ing consoles him but form and color. And this 
is not a vain debauch. The imagination has its 
own philosophy. Ask Goethe, ask Darwin. 
Morphology is everything, and everything will be 
brought back to it. 

Why have we not Sainte-Beuve ? He criticised 
but he understood. Do you remember our dinners 
with that great friend whose loss leaves me in the 



ERI\rEST REMAN-. 259 

same literary void as though he had carried half 
of the public with him to the tomb ? I have always 
maintained, you know, that color is only the ac- 
cessory, that it serves to heighten a principal fact, 
which ordinarily ought to be of the moral order. 
But there is no absolute rule. Lucian, Apuleius, 
and even that jester Philostratus, the Mery of antiq- 
uity, must not be dismissed. Everything that is 
not common should be. received with kindness. 
Plebeian platitude alone, in art, has anything im- 
moral about it. 

What an error to call the exercise of our natural 
faculties a malady ! It is mediocrity which is 
scrofulous and sickly. Have you noticed that the 
audacious and narrow-minded spirits which our 
country has lost have not acquired a single new 
idea since ? The work of the imagination is 
healthy, as it is healthy for a country to have 
good soldiers, good painters, good philologists, 
good workers of every sort. People understood 
this forty years ago. But you have hit upon a bad 
time. At the present moment, parties appreciate 
us in proportion to the aid which we afford them. 
You present to such a public a work which has 
been long studied ; each one asks himself in what 
way you serve his policy. Poor country ! That 
has happened to it which happened to your Cato- 
blepas, who devoured his own paws, one day, 
without noticing it. 

You are credited with propagandist intentions 



26o RECOLLECTIONS AND LEISTERS OF 

while you desire but one thing : to charm, to strike, 
to touch, to move. You offer to the delicate a per- 
fume to smell ; the dullards have swallowed it in 
gulps. That is no fault of yours. People have 
not comprehended your admirable conclusion, the 
profoundly conceived role of Hilarion — science 
slowly developing its mortal batteries— your 
adorable Ebionites, your Buddha, your Oannes, 
the discourse of Isis, the philosophical dialogue of 
Anthony upon Satan's shoulders. This enchants 
me, and I am not the only one to be enchanted ; 
some Strasburg professors to whom I lent your 
book were delighted with it. We may be chal- 
lenged, it is true ; in regard to you we stand some- 
what in the position of a chemist or a physician, 
to whom a young and charming woman speaks of 
his works. Our ideas, returning to us clothed in 
your rich fancy, charm us. You are considered to 
be exaggerated in many cases where you are only 
true. Your impression of the desert of Libya is 
just. Even he who has been only to Cairo and 
has seen the tombs of the Caliphs, almost buried 
in the sand, has understood this sort of beauty. 
It is not the only one, and the public must not be 
confined to it. I confess to you, timidly, that 
more than once, in Syria, in Egypt, I dreamed of a 
pretty house irt the valley of the Auge, tapestried 
with Bengal roses, of a meadow on the banks of 
the Oise, of a village in Brittany at the hour when 
the evening Angelus is sounding. But we must not 
tear from the aesthetic lyre a single one of its 



ERNEST REN AN. 261 

cords. It is when they all vibrate in unison that 
they make the full accord which is called a fine 
century. 

And, surely, that which has been the least 
understood is your indifference to popular success. 
How many men besides yourself, after '* Madame 
Bovary," would have made endless rehearsals of the 
work which the public had accepted. You have 
fled to the other pole, from Normandy to the 
desert. Aristocrat that you are, you feared to 
have perpetrated some folly, when you saw that 
you amused the public. Wrath has taken posses- 
sion of you ; heroic in everything, you have taken 
a bludgeon, to put to flight your plebeian admirers. 
I understand it ; but now you must take your 
revenge. Return to that which captivates all the 
vvorld. You have painted the repulsive and the 
strange in a masterly manner. Sat prata biberunt. 
A person who is very fond of you said to me, a 
few months ago, how greatly he desired to see you 
make a book which should be the whole of your- 
self, which should excite men to nobleness, to 
virtue. Keep your foundations ; they are admi- 
rable ; but make them serve some purpose. Add a 
trifle ; place a flower on these manure-heaps, as 
you did in " Madame Bovary." The good and the 
beautiful exist, as well as the evil and the ugly* 
You will be able to paint them admirably when you 
wish it. 

We leave in a few days for Bologna and Parma. 
Believe in my sincere friendship. 



262 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 



HENRI FREDERIC AMIEL. 



We must feel infinitely grateful to the persons 
who, moved by a sentiment of pious friendship, 
have undertaken the difficult task of introducing 
Henri Frederic Amiel to the public, which occupied 
the mind of this distinguished thinker to a large 
extent, but which a certain timidity prevented his 
addressing directly. Amiel's intellectual situation 
is one of the most peculiar of our times ; his life 
exhibits admirably several of the maladies which 
are at work upon our epoch. Although possessed 
of really eminent philosophical aptitudes, Amiel 
arrived only at sadness ; gifted with true literary 
qualities, he was not able to give to his ideas that 
form which commands respect. A perfectly up- 
right man, he lacked firm design in the control of 
his life. Moralists and publicists of the second 
rank have been more remarked than he ; writers a 
hundred times less learned have left their impress 
on our literary history; a multitude of mediocre 
natures have, perhaps, rendered more services to 
the cause of the true and the good than this pas- 
sionate friend of all that is ideal. 

If Amiel had been one of that troop, assuredly 
the best among the elect, which has taken for its 
motto *''' ania nesciri'* (love to be unknown), there 
would be nothing to say. It is an accepted prin- 



ERNEST RENAN. 263 

ciple among persons experienced in criticism that 
literature impairs that which it touches ; that the 
most beautiful sentiments will always remain un- 
known ; that the most true and vigorous ideas that 
have ever been entertained with regard to the 
universe have remained unpublished, or, to put 
it more accurately, unexpressed. God and his 
angels, as the phrase used to run, have enjoyed 
the privilege of the only fine spectacles in the 
moral and intellectual order ; I mean those of 
meditations and sentiments produced in the bosom 
^' an absolute objectivity, without being spoiled by 
the interested second thought of how they may be 
put to profit. The man who is virtuous in silence, 
the grand heart which makes no parade of its 
heroism, the great mind which yields up its lofty 
views only when forced to it, so to speak, are 
superior to the artisan in words, engrossed in the 
idea of giving a form to opinions which, as likely 
as not, he does not cherish very deeply. Amiel, 
though very virtuous, had not reached the degree 
of disinterestedness of those ascetics who take a 
vow of perpetual silence. He was not exempt 
from the great malady of our day, which is the 
literary malady — the false idea that thought and 
sentiment exist for the purpose of being expressed, 
which turns one aside from loving life for itself, 
and causes an exaggerated value to be placed on 
talent. Amiel would have liked to produce, but 
he was thoroughly conscious that he was not a 



264 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

writer. According to the vulgar expression which 
a certain style of literature has brought into fashion, 
he is a rate — a flash-in-the-pan — because he does 
not know how to attach the public to the order of 
ideas which he has chosen ; but he is a flash-in-the- 
pan who is conscious of his defects, who adores 
that which he does not possess himself, and eats 
his heart out with regret. He does not see with 
sufficient distinctness that, without being a writer, 
one can do things of the highest rank, and he falls 
back upon the falsest of compromises — I mean 
upon the private journal, detached thoughts, 
memoirs destined for himself alone. 

This is a dangerous, sometimes an unhealthy 
fashion — a fashion which is adopted ordinarily by 
those who have no other, and upon which must 
rest, unless in the case of exceptional success, 
a priori a certain condemnation. The man who 
has the time to write a private journal seems to us 
not to have comprehended how vast the world is. 
The extent of things to be known is immense. The 
history of humanity is barely begun ; the study of 
nature contains in reserve discoveries which it is 
absolutely impossible to foresee. How can a man, 
in the presence of so colossal a task, pause to devour 
himself, to doubt life ? It is far better to take his 
mattock and set to work. The day when it will 
be permissible to loiter over the exercises of a dis- 
couraged thought, will be that on which we shall 
begin to perceive the fact that there is a limit to 



ERNEST REN AN, 265 

the matter to be learned. Now, supposing that, in 
the course of centuries, such a limit should be 
perceived for history, it will never be perceived for 
nature. But the problems which appear com- 
pletely barred, like those of physical astronomy, 
are susceptible of being suddenly sifted in an 
unforese^en manner. While working on the for- 
mulas, ever more and more comprehensive, acquired 
by preceding scientific generations, physics, chem- 
istry, biology have before them a programme 
which enlarges in proportion as they advance. My 
friend M. Berthelot would have time to occupy 
himself during hundreds of cansecutive lives with- 
out ever writing a word about himself. I calculate 
that I should require five hundred years to exhaust 
the compass of Semitic studies as I understand 
them ; and if the taste for them should ever weaken 
in me, I would learn Chinese ; that new world, 
still awaiting criticism almost intact, would whet 
my appetite for an indefinite period. Subjective 
skepticism, doubt as to the legitimacy of our facul- 
ties, is the birdlime in which the natures attacked 
by the malady of scruple are caught. Apprehen- 
sions of this sort always come from a certain 
indolence of mind. He who thirsts for reality is 
drawn out of himself. It is for this reason that a 
genius like M. Victor Hugo never had the leisure 
to scrutinize himself. When one is powerfully 
attracted by things, one is sure that it is they and 
not a vain phantasmagoria which one is clasping. 



266 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Amiel has not that love for the universe which 
causes one to have no eyes for anything else. For 
more than thirty years he never let a day pass 
without observing himself and describing his state 
of soul ; he recorded his reflections in large quarto 
notebooks which, when put together, made a total 
of more than sixteen thousand pages. Felix culpa ! 
From this undigested mass, Amiel's friends — oh, 
what a good thing it is to leave true friends behind 
one ! — have culled two volumes of thoughts which 
offer us, without any sacrifice made to the work of 
art, the perfect mirror of one of the most upright 
of modern consciences, arrived at the highest 
degree of culture, and at the same time a finished 
picture of the sufferings of a sterile genius. These 
two volumes may certainly be reckoned among the 
most interesting philosophical writings which have 
appeared in recent years. Amiel's defects, in fact, 
are as striking as possible. He himself takes 
pleasure in emphasizing them and placing them in 
prominent positions ; but there is not a single one 
of them which does not proceed from an excess of 
nobility and an elevated principle. " I insist ob- 
stinately on doing nothing which can please me, 
serve me, or aid me. My passion is to injure my 
own interests, to set good sense at defiance, to be 

headstrong to my own detriment I am 

ashamed of my interests, as of an ignoble anc| 
servile motive." 

^< What a singular nature," he ejcclaims, " and 



ERNEST RENAN, 267 

what an eccentric propensity! Not to dare to 
enjoy artlessly, without scruple, and to withdraw 
from the table for fear the repast should come to 
an end." *' As soon as a thing attracts me," he 
says again, *' I turn away my head, or, rather, I can 
neither accustom myself to insufficiency, nor find 
anything which will satisfy my aspirations. The 
real disgusts me, and I do not find the ideal." 
That is the truth. His impotence comes from his 
being too perfect. " In love," says M. Scherer, 
*^ he recoiled before avowal ; in literature, he re- 
coiled before a work." One cannot be a man of 
letters without some defect. The perfect man, 
such as Amiel dreamt of, would have no talent. 
Talent is a petty vice, of which a saint should cure 
himself first of all. 

Amiel's sterility springs from another cause : the 
too great diversity of his intellectual and moral 
origins. Variety, in this line, is an excellent 
thing; but the two elements must not neutralize 
each other. One must dominate, and the rest 
must be only accessory. Amiel is too hybrid to 
be fruitful. The excellent Germanic education 
which he received was constantly at war with other 
parts of his nature. He laid the blame upon the 
language.* He thought' that French was the cause 
of the difficulty which he found in expressing his 
thought. A profound error. " The French lan- 
guage," he says, "can express nothing nascent in 
the germ. It paints only effects, results, the caj>ut 
* Vol i, pp. 83-84 ; vol ii, p. 184, 



268 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

mortuum .(the death's head), but not the cause, the 
movement, the force, the future of any phenome- 
non whatever. It is analytical and descriptive ; 
but it does not help one to understand anything, 
for it does not make one see the beginnings and for- 
mation out of nothing." If Amiel had been better 
acquainted with the language in which he habitually 
wrote, he would have seen that French suffices for 
the expression of every thought — even of thoughts 
the most foreign to its ancient genius — and that if, 
in the transfusion, it allows some details to escape, 
precisely these details were after-growths which 
prevented the new thought from assuming a uni- 
versal character. Amiel was not a perfect master 
of his instrument. Not knowing all his notes, he 
considered it unfit to produce certain sounds ; then 
he threw it out of tune with impatience. He would 
have done better to study it thoroughly. 

Amiel went to Germany when young — almost as 
soon as he left college. He embraced, with much 
ardor, the intellectual discipline which then reigned. 
The school of Hegel taught him its complicated 
manner of thinking, and, at the same time, ren- 
dered him incapable of writing. This school in- 
cited rather to eloquence and dissertation upon all 
sorts of subjects than to the continuous composi- 
tion which, prose demands. Hegel has some good 
points ; but one must know how to take him. One 
must restrict one's self to an infusion ; he is an ex- 
cellent tea^ but one must not chew the leaves, 



ERNEST kEMAN. 269 

Amiel did too much of this. For him everything 
becomes matter for system — so completely that, for 
example, on meeting a very pretty woman one day 
in the Jura, in the neighborhood of Soleure, he 
passes his day in constructing the theory of co- 
quetry and of the inconveniences of beauty.* 

If, at least, this Hegelian education had but 
given him the scientific spirit ! Nothing of the 
sort. No school has disseminated in the world more 
ingenious or profound ideas than that of Hegel ; 
but in hardly any direction has it produced truly 
learned men. There is in Hegel a little of Ray- 
mond LuUe. I mean of that false idea that one 
can substitute lay figures and general procedure 
for the direct study of realities. Hence a sort of 
lassitude, which speedily manifested itself among 
the leaders and disciples of this school, otherwise 
so eminent. There is no curiosity when the result 
is foreseen in advance. One quickly perceives the 
end of that which one attains by the turnpike of 
logic ; one never sees the end of reality. 

The sort of lack of perpendicular, which renders 
the layers of Amiel's life so unstable, has for cause 
this ill-harmonized education. He is not estab- 
lished squarely in his chair ; he has not a sufifi. 
ciently clear idea of the goal of the human mind — 
of that which gives and furnishes a serious base to 
Ufe ; he is neither a learned man nor a lettered 
man ; he declares repeatedly that for him the su- 
preme ideal is the art of the man of letters ; but he 
* Vol. ii, p. 6, and following pages. 



^1Q RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

is perfectly conscious that he lacks this art ; he 
even forms for himself a false idea of it ; he makes 
too much of a distinction between the foundation 
and the form ; he would gladly believe that writing 
is distinctly separate from thinking. He is one of 
the most honest seekers after truth that has ever 
existed ; he is almost a saint, and, withal, he halts 
at every turn in the road to bewail evils or (what' is 
more singular) imaginary sins, and to note details 
which are not remarked by a man who is in haste. 
He is never in haste ; that constitutes a quality, if 
you choose to so consider it ; but it is the mark of 
a mind only moderately possessed by curiosity, by 
a craving for things. He does not picture to him- 
self the world as great or astonishing as it is ; he 
would like to imagine — God forgive me ! — that 
one can know the final facts about it. Now, that 
is not possible. Everything remains to be done, 
or to be done over in the order of science, of 
nature, and of humanity. When one is conscious 
of laboring in this infinite work, one has no time to 
pause over petty melancholy points on the road. 

The most vexatious thing about it is that this 
very strained philosophy did not render him as 
happy as he deserved to be. At first glance, one 
cannot well see what complaint he could have to 
make against his destiny. He was born eminently 
well endowed in intellectual and moral directions ; 
he possessed all the means for acquiring high cul- 
ture ; he never had to struggle with harsh necessi- 



ERNEST REN AN. 271 

ties ; he lived for sixty years, suffering much, it is 
true, in his last years, but his mind was always 
free. With all this, it seems as though he should 
have been as happy as a king ; yet his habitual 
turn of thought is a complaint against his fate. It 
appears that his childhood was not encompassed 
with affection, and that is one of the worst things 
that can happen to a man ; the joys and sorrows of 
early years are reflected in the whole life. Geneva, 
on the other hand, was one of the points in the 
world which was least suited to his nature ; his 
German education had made him practically a 
stranger there, and then, a small state resembles a 
small town. Perhaps Amiel did not observe a suf- 
ficiently complete system of precautions with re- 
gard to the society in which he lived. When one 
is not like other men, one must guard one's self 
against them, to some extent. All that any one of 
us has the right to exact from the society of which 
he forms a part is that he shall be tolerated. One 
almost always succeeds in securing this, by dint of 
good humor and impartiality. One of Amiel'sbits 
of simplicity was to consider himself obliged to 
take part in the battles of the pygmies, and to make 
common cause with a party which, had it been in 
power, would have understood him no better than 
the democratic party. He became a reactionary 
wantonly, and in the most disinterested fashion. 
The man who has consecrated his life to the search 
for the true and the pursuit of good ought not to 



2 72 RE COLLE C TIONS A ND LET TERS OF 

attach himself absolutely to any of the revolutions 
which follow each other in this world. He should 
know but one interest — that of the human soul 
and the human mind. 

That which is to be sincerely regretted is that 
Amiel did not come to Paris in i860, at the epoch 
when the Gei'nianic Review was founded ; M. 
Scherer invited him. M. Sainte-Beuve would have 
exercised a dominating influence upon him. We 
should have succeeded, I think, in diminishing, for 
his own good, the deleterious influence of the fer- 
ments of sadness which nature, as well as his first 
and his second education, had implanted in him. 
Religion, it must be admitted, had aggravated the 
evil. This is, assuredly, the most singular side of 
Amiel. This Hegelian to the last degree, this 
Buddhist, this rationalist, perfectly convinced of 
the non-existence of the unrevealed supernatural, 
followed the established cult. The traces of the 
sermons of Saint Peter of Geneva are frequently 
encountered in his thoughts. Amiel is not only a 
Protestant, he is an orthodox Protestant, extremely 
opposed to liberal Protestantism. He speaks of 
sin, of salvation, of redemption, of conversion, as 
though they were realities. Sin, in particular, 
engrosses his attention, saddens him — him, the best 
of men, who less than anyone else could know 
what it is. He reproaches me forcibly for not 
taking it sufficiently into account, and he asks 
himself two or three times : ^' What does M. Renan 



ERNEST REN AN. 273 

do with sin ? " As I said the other day, in my 
native town, I really believe that 1 suppress it, in 
fact. That is the great difference between Catholic 
and Protestant education. Those who, like myself, 
have received a Catholic education, have preserved 
profound vestiges of it. But these vestiges are 
not dogmas ; they are dreams. When that great 
curtain of cloth of gold, striped with silk, cotton, 
and calico, with which Catholicism masks from us 
the view of the world ; when this great curtain, I 
say, has once been rent, one beholds the universe 
in its infinite splendor, nature in its lofty and com- 
plete majesty. The most liberal Protestant often 
retains some sadness, a foundation of intellectual 
austerity analogous to the Slavic pessimist. It is 
one thing to smile at the life of such a mythological 
saint ; it is quite another thing to preserve the im- 
print of those terrible mysteries which have sad- 
dened so many souls, and those of the best. What 
is odd, in fact, is that it is the souls which are the 
most foreign to sin which torment themselves the 
most with it, search persistently for it, and, under 
the pretext of extirpating an evil which they have 
not, dissect themselves, tear themselves perpetually 
with blows of the scalpel. 

Moreover, there was in Amiel's religious attitude 
something more than the memories of childhood. 
He must have learned those fine feats of strength 
which permit one to deny everything speculatively, 
only to affirm everything practically, at Berlin, from 



^74 kECOLLECTlONS AMD LETTERS OP 

old Marheineke, or from some one of his pupils. 
Afterward it only grew and added embellishments. 
The strangest intellectual paradox with which 
philosophical Germany has astonished us is the 
eccentric pretension of a certain school to found 
religion upon the postulate of pessimism. Have 
we not lately seen M. Hartmann, the same M. 
Hartmann who declares explicitly that creation is 
an error, and that the hypothesis of nothingness 
would have been better than the hypothesis of 
being, find at the same time that religion is neces- 
sary, and that it has for its base the evil inherent 
in human nature ? 

"■ Religion," writes M. Hartmann, " has its source 
in the fact that the human mind comes into col- 
lision with evil, with sin, and because, in conse- 
quence, it aspires to explain them, and, as much as 
possible, to conquer them. The man who asks 
himself, 'How shall I manage to endure evil? 
How shall I succeed in reconciling my tortured 
conscience with it ? ' — that man is on the road to 
religion. Whether one places the accent upon evil 
or upon sin, it is always discontent with the world 
which leads to religion. If the painful impressions 
caused by evil and sin do not weigh sufficiently 
heavy in the scale of the balance to surmount, in 
a durable manner, the agreeable impressions of 
worldly life, the religious impulses of the mind will 

be only passing caprices It is only when 

bitter doubt in relation to evil and the agony of 



ERNEST REN AM. 275 

moral culpability have dominated worldly satisfac- 
tions and formed the general current of existence ; 
it is only when the pessimistic sentiment has gained 
the upper hand that religion can establish itself in 
the soul in a durable manner. Where this pes- 
simistic direction of the mind is not found religion 
cannot grow, at least spontaneously." 

Here, indeed, is the antipodes of our ideas. We 
think, the best of us, that one is religious when one 
is content with the good God and with one's self; 
and now it appears that one is religious when one 
is in a bad humor, and when one has committed 
sins ! .... I no longer understand it in the least. 
Day by day I grow more disgusted with tran- 
scendentalism, and I am coming to believe that the 
French solution, which is contained in liberty, and 
which is destined to end, gradually, in the separa- 
tion of religions and the state, is, in the present 
condition of the human mind, the only rational 
solution. Liberalism terminates nothing, no doubt ; 
but it is precisely on this point that it is right, or, 
at least, it is oh this point that it is the sole prac- 
tical expedient in the presence of that individual- 
ism in belief which has become the law of our times. 

Superior minds frequently have to guard them- 
selves against these reactionary tendencies, masked 
beneath appearances of profound philosophy. As 
they soar very high in the region of the atmos- 
phere where ideas unfold, and where are formed 
the great currents of air which waft them, they 



276 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

imagine that they can couple the clouds at their 
will, and, like yEolus, force the wind to blow where 
they please. The^ fine aerial strategies have 
something touching about them, but also something 
pretentious. A man desires to be the lancet which 
strikes and which cures ; after having cleverly cut 
the root of moral and religious beliefs, he wishes 
to figure as the restorer of them ; after the reader 
has passed through the alarms of skepticism, he 
finds that, thank God, all is safe and sound. And 
in connection with this subject, I cannot help 
thinking of our eminent thinker M. Lachelier, the 
inventor of the most surprising circular philo- 
sophical movement of modern times after Kant. 
After having applied to all the operations of the 
mind a criticism so corrosive that it leaves almost 
nothing behind it, on arriving at the final bounds 
of nihilism he turns completely round. One sad 
thought suffices to make him discover that he is a 
perfect Christian. This reconstruction of Chris- 
tianity on the basis of pessimism is one of the most 
striking intellectual symptoms of our day. It is so 
difficult to deprive one's self of the support of an 
established religion that, after having destroyed 
the churches of granite, people build churches of 
old plaster. This reminds me of the church of 
Ferney, which now serves as a hay barn, with the 
inscription : Deo erexit Voltaii-e — Voltaire erected 
this to God. 

What is very remarkable is that the elements of 



^ERNEST RE A' an: 277 

this pessimistic Christianity, by which people imag- 
ine that they can make religion flourish once more 
in the world, are drawn solely from Saint Paul. 
Jesus and the preaching of the Gallilean are for- 
gotten ; one no longer knows what the sun of the 
kingdom of God is. I confess that the dogma of 
original sin is the one for which I have the least 
taste. There is not another dogma which is built, 
like that one, on the point of a needle. The tale 
of Adam's sin is found in only one of the editions 
whose alternate pages compose the tissues of Gen- 
esis. If the Elohist edition alone had come down 
to us, there would have been no original sin. The 
Jehovist narrative of the first fault, a very beautiful 
narrative, by the way, and, relatively, very ancient, 
was never noticed by the ancient people of Israel. 
Saint Paul was the first to draw from it the fright- 
ful dogma which, for centuries, has filled humanity 
with sadness and terror. It is quite true that this 
may have been powerful in its day, that Protestant- 
ism in particular, in order that it might have the 
right to suppress much more gross and abusive dross, 
may have been right in laying emphasis on those 
austere beliefs, which, by placing men in absolute 
dependence upon God and Jesus Christ removed 
him from the priest and the official Church ; but 
why should rational minds, like ourselves, retain 
such fictions ? If we admit the part of the super- 
natural contained in original sin and in the redemp- 
tion, I do not see why we halt there. The ques^ 



273 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

tion is to find out whether the supernatural exists. 
When one has recognized its existence, there is no 
reason for bargaining about quantity. 

Has this dogma of sin, at least the advantage of 
accounting, in a more or less symbolical manner, 
for the great facts of the history of human society ? 
No, certainly not. Do we desire to say that phys- 
ical and moral evil are superabundant, that man 
does not attain his goal, which is the realization of 
a society in some small degree just, only by dint of 
continual efforts ? Oh ! that is true, no doubt. 
But that is giving to the expression of an evident 
fact a mythological and inexact turn. The world 
reveals to us, with a complete absence of a well- 
digested plan, a spontaneous effort, like that of the 
embryo, toward life and consciousness. The world, 
or, to speak in a more limited manner, the planet 
which we inhabit, draws or will draw from the 
capital which has been allotted to it, the summum 
of what can be extracted from it. To demand of 
the universe and of each one of its bodies that they 
shall realize, on the first start, absolute perfection, 
is to demand of it a flagrant contradiction. Good 
is obtained by the obscure consciousness of the 
universe only in consideration of a certain quantity 
of evil. To be or not to be, the choice is open. 
But from the moment that the universe has decided 
— and I think that it has done very well — in favor of 
being and for conscience, the compensating dose 
of evil is absolutely ineyitaJDle. 



ERNEST REN an: 279 

The metamorphosis of animals is a fit of pain. 
Pain is the perpetual warning of life, the incitement 
to all progress. Why does the insect aspire to dis- 
embarrass himself of an organ which would burden 
him in his new life ? Because he suffers. Why 
does the being engendered desire to separate 
itself from the generating being ? Because it 
suffers. Pain creates effort ; it is salutary. Man 
is, evidently, the special being, which is the most 
elevated that we can know. His astonishing pre- 
rogatives are purchased by harsh conditions. The 
development of an organ so complicated as the 
human body presupposes a considerable sum o"f 
suffering. It is impossible that the child should 
not suffer, that the mother should not suffer, that 
the old man should not suffer, and, as for death, it 
is the absolutely necessary consequence of the self-' 
evident law that every organism which has a begin- 
ning must have an end. 

" Thou shalt bring forth children in pain," is 
presented by .theologians as a condemnation in 
consequence of a crime, but, to be more exact, it 
would be necessary that the actual period %liould 
have been preceded by another period in which 
the woman brought forth without pain, which has 
never existed, unless on the lowest rungs of human- 
ity. The man of fine race is a determinate thing, 
a maximum obtained only by skirting precipices ; 
a thousand causes of ruin level their aim at him, 
jbesiege himr The exquisite is a wager against th^ 



28o RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

possible. Nature, aiming ^at obtaining the most 
elevated type of animal, could not do otherwise than 
make the birth of such a being a crisis for the 
mother. Supposing that man had a head as large 
again as that which he has in the good races, he 
would kill his mother at his birth, and he would be 
subject to perpetual congestions. Everything in 
nature is the result of a balance struck between 
the opposing advantages and inconveniences. The 
lever of the arm is very disadvantageous for mus- 
cular effort ; a better lever would have given us 
an arm like the wing of a pelican. Our heart, our 
spinal cord, our brain, are very fragile things ; were 
they more solid they would be unsuited to the del- 
icate uses to which we put them. Nature never 
enters upon a blind alley without exit ; in order to 
obtain the result which she seeks, always a good 
one, she goes to the point where the com.pensating 
inconvenience is mortal ; she behaves like a gen- 
eral who weighs in the balance the object and the 
losses necessary to attain it. She wishes the high- 
est sum of life with the least possible suffering. 

She wishes — I say it badly, no doubt ; but things 
happen as though it were so. The definitive re- 
sult of the obscure battle which is being inces- 
santly waged for life is in favor of good. The too 
deficient being disappears or does not arrive at 
existence, the imperfect being reforms itself and 
aspires to a type possible in normal life. This is so 
true that nature troubles herself not at all about 



ERNEST REN AN. 281 

small inconveniences. As in a state it is easier to 
correct great evils, ulcers which constitute a danger 
of death, than to extirpate the petty abuses which 
do not menace the existence of the social body ; so 
nature has not corrected in the human body those 
defects which shock us, but which were not of a 
sort to condemn the species to the impossibility of 
existing. 

II. 

Amiel's religion was in constant process of puri- 
fication, but it always remained a sad religion, more 
analogous, on the whole, to Buddhism than to 
Christianity. Although he deprecates the excesses 
of what he terms German Sivaism, in Bahnsen, for 
example, he strongly recalls, in reality, the last 
formulas of Hartmann. Sin and deliverance, that 
is the sum of the theology of the modern disciples 
of Cakya-Mouni. 

Nothing, in my opinion, could be more contrary 
to the ideas which are bound to prevail in the 
future. The sum of human happiness must be aug- 
mented. It is not of sin, of expiation, of redemp- 
tion that men must be told in the future ; it is of 
goodness, cheerfulness, indulgence, good humor, 
resignation. In proportion as the hopes of the 
next world vanish, these transitory beings must 
become habituated to regard life as supportable ; 
otherwise they will revolt. Man can no longer be' 
kept in repose, except by happiness. Now, in a so- 



282 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE TTERS OF 

ciety which is not too badly constituted, very few 
people have reason to complain that they have been 
brought into the world. The cause of pessimism 
and nihilism lies in the tedium of a life which, in 
consequence of a defective social organization, is 
not worth the trouble of living. Life is of value 
only in proportion to its fruits ; if we wish that men 
should cling to it, it must be rendered savory and 
delectable to lead. 

Amiel asks himself uneasily : " What is it that 
saves?" Eh! good -Heavens ! 'tis that which gives 
to each person his motive for living. The means 
of salvation are not the same for all. For one it is 
virtue, for another it is ardor for the truth, for an- 
other the love of art, for others still curiosity, am- 
bition, travel, luxury, women, wealth ; in the lowest 
degree, morphine and alcohol. Virtuous men find 
their recompense in virtue itself ; those who are 
not virtuous have pleasure, instead. 

All have the imagination, that is to say, supreme 
joy, enchantments which never grow old ; with the 
exception of a few cases of moral pathology there 
is no life so gloomy that some ray of sunshine does 
not penetrate it. 

The most dangerous error, in the matter of social 
morality, is the systematic suppression of pleasure. 
Rigorously correct virtue is an aristocracy ; every- 
body is not equally bound thereto. He who has 
received the privilege of intellectual and moral 
nobility is obliged to belong to it ; but the good 



ERNEST REN AN. 283 

old Gallic morality did not impose the same bur- 
dens on all ; kindness, courage, gayety, confidence 
in the God of good men, suffice for salvation. It 
is necessary that the masses should amuse them- 
selves. For my own part I feel no need of exter- 
nal amusement ; but I do need to feel that people 
are amusing themselves around me ; I enjoy the 
gayety of others. Temperance societies are founded 
upon excellent intentions, but upon a misunder- 
standing as well. I know but one argument in their 
favor. Madame T. said to me one day, that the 
husbands in certain countries beat their wives, when 
they are not temperance men. That is horrible, as- 
suredly ; we must try to correct that. But instead 
of suppressing drunkenness for those who require 
it, would it not be better to try to render it gentle, 
amiable, accompanied by moral sentiments ? There 
are so many men with whom the hour after intoxi- 
cation is, next to the hour after love, the moment 
when they are at their best. 

Inequality and variety are the fundamental laws 
of the human species. Nothing must be suppressed 
in the conflicting manifestations of this eccentric 
collective being. It has been said that it is neither 
angel nor beast ; I would say rather, that it is both 
angel and beast. A being organized eternal and 
perfect is a contradiction. Must we for this reason 
reject the pencil of light which nature deals out to 
us in our turn ? It is as though one were to refuse 
a cup of exquisite wine because it will soon be ex- 



284 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

hausted, or a pleasure because it does not last 
long. There is great inequality, no doubt ; but 
nearly everyone has something, and the progress 
of human societies will constantly reduce more 
and more the number of the disinherited. There 
remains pain, which is, assuredly, an odious, hu- 
miliating thing, injurious to the noble functions 
of life. Man can combat it, almost suppress it, 
always escape it. The cases in which man is fet- 
tered to life are very rare. The only destiny to be 
absolutely condemned is that of the enslaved ani- 
mal; of the horse, for example, who cannot commit 
suicide, or of those persons condemned to death, 
who are kept in sight, or of the demented ; but 
these are very exceptional situations. The im- 
mense majority of individuals have not to complain 
of their passage through being, since the balance 
of life is settled in joy, and since death may some 
day be rendered painless. 

Hence the problem of the origin of evil, so pain- 
fully agitated by ancient philosophy, is not a 
problem. The Manichaean theory of the good 
God and the evil God is irrefutable in the theistic 
conception of the reckoning and omnipotent God. 
It has no longer any sense in the conception 
of a universe which draws from its own bosom 
all that it can. Evil is the absolute condition of 
conscious existence. The world succeeds in pro- 
curing a little of good justice, and the ideal, with 
myriads of egotisms. When one thinks of the road 



ERNEST REMAN. 285 

that it has been necessary to traverse in order that, 
from the system of reciprocal extermination, which 
was the law of the primitive world, Kant's notion 
of the categorical imperative should emerge, one is 
really surprised at the wise ways which nature's 
policy has pursued. The order of things in which 
evil is of the most consequence, and in which our 
supreme duty is to combat it, is the human reign ; 
therein an infinite amount remains to be done, un- 
deniably ; but much has also been done already. 
The human world is much less wicked nowadays, 
and much less unjust, than it was three or four 
thousand years ago. The general intention of the 
universe is benevolent. The evil which it still re- 
tains is the necessary imperfection which sponta- 
neity cannot eliminate and which science must 
combat. The problem is to learn whether the 
hypothesis of the existence of the world, was worse, 
as M. Hartmann maintains, than the hypothesis of 
non-existence. For my own part, I think that the 
hypothesis of being is of more value, from the 
simple fact that it has been realized. The world, 
in M, Hartmann's opinion, is an effect without 
a cause. Being, or consciousness, at least, began 
and continues in the world only because there is 
in being an increased value of good for the sum 
total of conscious individuals. 

A world in which the evil should surpass the good 
would be a world which would not exist or which 
would disappear. There are very few beings, in fact, 



286 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OP 

who, when placed in the presence of destruction, 
have not a horror of it. They prefer existence 
with its miseries, to nothingness. Suicide is an ex- 
tremely rare event. Even the animal which is, in 
appearance, the most odiously exploited by an- 
other, has its compensations. The oyster gives 
pleasure to the man who swallows it under condi- 
tions in which its pain must be almost nothing ; and 
before that, for months, the man has guarded it in 
an oyster bed where he has protected it against all 
hostile beasts, and where it has enjoyed a longer 
and happier' existence than it would have had in a 
state of nature. There are, we admit, some human 
creatures for whom, in consequence of fatal coin- 
cidences, it would have been better had they not 
existed. Let us hope that the cases of this sort 
will become more and more rare, and that they will 
even disappear altogether. 

Nothing, then, is less well grounded than the re- 
proaches which pessimists indulge in toward the 
spirit of benevolence which, in our opinion, rules 
this universe. These objections land full in the 
breast of those pure theists, who consider the divine 
consciousness to be a reflective consciousness 
which combines things scientifically. They are 
unsolvable for those who cling to the ideas of the 
ancient theology as to the divine omnipotence. 
But such objections have no value as opposed to 
those who believe that the world is abandoned to 
the spontaneous play of its own forces. Nature is 



ERNEST RENAM. 2S7 

like a boiler at high pressure ; it gives off every- 
thing which is not retained by the wall of the im- 
possible. In reality, what the pessimists demand, 
what they conceive as the ideal of a perfect world, 
is a world of miracles, a world where the deus ex 
niachuia should intervene incessantly, to correct, 
in detail, the defects which he has not been able 
to foresee in the lump. That which possesses 
them all is the anthropocentric error, the artless 
fatuity of man judging the world from the point 
of view of his comfort, as though the ant should 
set up its theory of the universe, taking into ac- 
count only the needs of its little circle. 

Amiel has too just a sense to allow himself to 
indulge in the exaggerations of the school, void of 
tact, which has sprung from the clever Schopen- 
hauer. Amiel is a poet, and he has a lively love 
for nature. He understands half of Goethe ; then 
the fundamental contradiction of his being gets 
the upper hand. 

" Goethe ignores sanctity, and would never re- 
flect upon the terrible problem of evil. .... He 
never reached the sentiment of obligation and of 
sin." This idealistic Manichaeism is all the more 
singular in Amiel since he fully admits the rights 
of sestheticism. Now, the single fact of admitting 
in nature a sort of coquetry is full of consequences. 
If nature were wicked she would be ugly. Is it 
an effect of chance that the fundamental act of 
nature, the union of the sexes, is indissolubly 



288 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE TTERS OF 

bound up with the sesthetic sentiment, and may- 
be the cause of all aestheticism ? Beauty is the 
adornment which both flower and animal assume 
with a view to love. In this adornment of the 
plant and the animal there is never a fault in the 
design, there is never a crude or badly assorted 
color. Nature has taste ; only, she does not go 
as far as morals ; she does not go beyond 
love. 

That is why, in the eyes of reason, she is so 
often unjust and immoral. We feel an irresistible 
need for assuming in the government of the 
world the justice of which we find the dictates in 
our hearts ; and, as it has been plainly proved 
that this justice does not exist in the reality of the 
universe, we come to exact absolutely, as a con- 
dition of morality, the suryival of each human 
consciousness beyond the tomb. Here shines 
forth the supreme contradiction between nature 
and reason. Such a postulate is, in fact, the most 
necessary thing a priori and the most impossible a 
p)steriori. The thesis of the "Phgedo " is only a 
subtlety. I much prefer the Judseo-Christian system 
of the resurrection. The resurrection would be a 
miracle and cannot be conceived in the present 
state of the world, where we perceive above material 
facts only this poor humanity, still so weak, and a 
general, obscure conscience which is utterly heed- 
less of individuals. Reason is not all-powerful 
now, it endures flagrant injustices which it cannot 



ERNEST REN AN. 289 

prevent. But if we could suppose that it were all- 
powerful, nothing- would then hinder its being just, 
and just retrospectively for the ages when justice 
has not been possible. In a word, God is already 
good ; but he is not omnipotent ; he will be so 
some day, no doubt. God already does what he 
can for justice ; one of these days, when he shall 
have at his disposal the capital of the entire uni- 
verse, he will be able to do all things. In that 
way, one might imagine a grand reparation, and, 
as a slumber of a million centuries is not longer 
than the slumber of an hour, the reign of justice 
which we have loved will appear to us the immedi- 
ate continuation of the hour of death. 

The resurrection would thus be the final act of 
the world, the act of an omnipotent and omniscient 
God, capable of being just and wishing to be so. 
Immortality would not be as Plato would have it ; 
that is a gift inherent in man, a consequence of his 
nature ; it would be a gift reserved by the Being, 
become absolute, perfect, all-powerful, for those 
who should have contributed to its development. 
It would be an exception, a divine selection, a rec- 
ompense accorded by the triumphant good and 
true, to the only consciousness of the past in which 
the love of the good and the true should have 
reigned. It would be, in short, a miracle ; that is 
to say, a well-meditated, divine act ; such acts, of 
which we do not, at present, know a single example, 
would become the law of the universe on the day 



290 RECOLLECTIOMS AND LETTERS OF 

when the being should arrive at perfect conscious- 
ness. 

I sometimes try to imagine for myself a sermon 
suitable for All Saints' Day — the most eternal of 
religious anniversaries — delivered a thousand years 
hence, when man will, perchance, have already 
caught a glimpse of the secret of immortality. Is 
it not remarkable that the festival of All Saints, 
inseparable from the festival of-the dead, should 
be the only anniversary which the populace have 
retained ? In the melancholy with which we think 
of the elect of the less favored ages, there lies 
hidden a sort of pious effort to restore them to 
life. We are obliged to think that everything 
which has existed still exists somewhere in an 
image which can be revivified. The negatives of 
all things are preserved. The stars at the extreme 
ends of the universe are receiving, at the present 
moment, the image of deeds which took place 
centuries ago. The imprints of everything which 
has existed live, arranged in degrees, in the 
diverse zones of infinite space. It remains for the 
supreme photographer to strike off fresh copies 
from them. Surely he will resuscitate only that 
which has served the ends of the good, and, con- 
sequently, of the true. That will be our recom- 
pense. Inferior souls will have had theirs in the 
low enjoyments which they have sought. 

These are the questions which I should have so 
much liked to discuss with poor Amiel, if I had 
had the pleasure of knowing him. On page 123 of 



ERNEST REN AN. 291 

Volume II, I think that he is rather unjust to me. 
He is indignant that, when I treat of such topics, 
I sometimes allow of smiles and irony. Well, in 
that point I think that I am tolerably philosophical. 
Complete obscurity, which is, perhaps, providential, 
conceals from us the moral objects of the universe. 
On this matter one makes bets ; one draws lots ; 
in reality, one knows nothing. Our wager, our 
real acierto in the Spanish fashion, the inward in- 
spiration which makes us affirm duty, is a sort of 
oracle, an infallible voice, coming from without, 
and corresponding to an objective reality. We 
stake our nobility on this obstinate affirmation ; we 
do well : we must cling to it, even in the face of 
evidence. But there are almost as many chances 
that the exact contrary may prove true. It is 
possible that these inward voices proceed from 
honest illusions upheld by habit, and that the 
world is merely an amusing fairy spectacle, which 
is not in charge of any god at all. Hence, we 
must so arrange matters for ourselves that, in 
either hypothesis, we may not be wholly in the 
wrong. We must listen to the higher voices, but 
in such a manner that, in case the second hypothesis 
prove the true one, we may not be too thoroughly 
duped. If, in fact, the world is not a serious 
thing, it is the dogmatic people who will turn out 
to have been frivolous, and the worldly people, 
those whom the theologians treat as giddypates, 
who will have been the genuinely wise. 

What seems advisable, under the circumstances, 



^92 kECOLLECTTONS AND LETTERS OF 

is a double-edged wisdom, equally ready for the 
two eventualities of the dilemma, a middle course 
in which, in one fashion or another, we shall not be 
obliged to say : Ergo erravimus — Therefore we have 
gone astray. It is, above all, for the sake of others 
that we must be scrupulous in this matter. A man 
may run great risks on his own account ; but he 
has not the right to gamble for others. When a 
man has souls in hischarge, he must express himself 
with a good deal of reserve so that, in the hypothe- 
sis of a grand bankruptcy, those whom he has com- 
promised may find that they have not been too 
much victimized. 

In utrumque paratus ! — To be ready for every- 
thing — therein, perhaps, lies wisdom. The way to 
be sure that one has been in the right, for a few 
moments at least, is to abandan one's self, by turns, 
to confidence, to skepticism, to optimism, to irony. 
You will say to me that by this means one will not 
turn out to have been completely in the right. No 
doubt ; but as there is not the slightest chance 
that the grand prize in this lottery is reserved for 
anyone, it is prudent to confine one's self to more 
modest pretensions. Well ! that state of soul which 
M. Amiel disdainfully designates as "the epicurism 
of the imagination " is, perhaps for that very reason, 
not so bad a course. Gayety has this one very 
philosophical thing about it, that it seems to say to 
nature that we do not take her any more seriously 
than she takes us ; if the world is a bad farce, we 



ERNEST REN AN. 293 

shall turn it into a good farce by dint of gayety. 
On the other hand, if an indulgent and benevolent 
thought does preside over the universe, we enter 
into the intentions of this supreme thought far 
better by joyous resignation than by the sullen 
rigidity of the sectary and the eternal lament of the 
believer. 

" Banter hypocrisies ; but speak in a straightfor- 
ward way to honest men," Amiel says to me with a 
certain acerbity. Good Heavens ! honest men are 
often exposed to the danger of being hypocrites 
without knowing it ! It is said that Socrates in- 
vented irony. If this be true, it must be confessed 
that the sage of Athens has uttered the final word 
of philosophy. We no longer admit, in truth, of 
philosophy being spoken of otherwise than with a 
smile. We owe virtue to the Eternal ; but we 
have the right to couple irony with it, by way of 
personal reprisals. By this method we return 
pleasantry for pleasantry to the person to whom it is 
due ; we play the trick which has been played on us. 
Saint Augustine's remark :Domine, si ei-ror est, a te 
decepti sumus — Lord, if there be an error, we have 
been deceived by Thee — still remains very beauti- 
ful, very much in conformity with modern senti- 
ments. Only, we desire the Eternal to feel that, 
if we accept the cheat, we accept it with full knowl- 
edge and voluntarily. We are resigned beforehand 
to lose the interests of our virtuous investments ; 
but we should not like to be exposed to the ridicule 



294 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

of seeming to have reckoned much upon them. By 
speaking of all this in a positive manner, we fear 
to appear to have fallen too readily into the trap 
set for our simplicity. 

Such was, moreover, Amiel's final conclusion, 
A few weeks before his death he perceived wisdom. 
On the last leaves of his journal we find the fol- 
lowing beautiful page : 

" For many years, the immanent God has been 
more actual to me than the transcendent God ; the 
religion of Jacob has been stranger to me than that 
of Kant or even of Spinoza. The entire Semitic 
dramaturgy has appeared to me a work of the im- 
agination. The apostolic documents have changed 
their value and their sense in my eyes. Belief and 
truth have differentiated themselves with ever- 
increasing clearness. Religious psychology has 
become a simple phenomenon, and has lost its 
fixed and nominal value. The apologetics of 
Pascal, of Leibnitz, of Secretan, seem to me no 
more proof positive than those of the Middle Ages, 
for they assume that which is in question, a re- 
vealed doctrine, a definite and immutable Christi- 
anity. It seems to me that that which remains to 
me, from all my studies, is a new phenomenology 
of the mind, the intuition of the universal meta- 
morphosis ; all private convictions, all principles 
concerning it, all acknowledged formulas, all non- 
fusible ideas are only prejudices useful to practice, 
but proofs of narrowness of mind. The absolute 
of detail is absurd and contradictory. Political, 
religious, aesthetic, literary, parties are ankylosis of 
the thought. Every special belief constitutes a 
rigidity and an obtuseness, but this consistence is 



ERNEST REN AM. 295 

necessary in its own season. Our monad, in so far 
as it is thinking, clears the limits of time, of space, 
and of historic surroundings ; but, in so far as it is 
individual, and for the sake of doing something, 
it adapts itself to current illusions, and sets a defi- 
nite goal for itself." 

These lines were written on February 4, 1881. 
Amiel died on the nth of May, of the same 
year. He had his defects ; but he certainly was 
one of the strongest speculative brains which re- 
flected upon matters in the period from 1845 to 
1880. The form which he selected for the expo- 
sition of his thought — a manuscript journal of 
16,000 pages — was the most disadvantageous possi- 
ble. Thanks to the posthumous care of his friends, 
thanks to M. Scherer, who has set forth most per- 
fectly, in a profound study, the fine character of 
that life, Amiel's thought will appear, to all those 
who take an interest in the problems of philosophy, 
as clear and complete as though he bad understood 
how to make a book ; that is to say, to limit himself. 



A PHILOSOPHICAL EXAMINATION OF CON- 
SCIENCE. 
I. 

The first duty of the sincere man is not to influ- 
ence his own opinions, to allow reality to reflect 
Itself in him as in the dark chamber of the photog- 
rapher, and to assist in the character of spectator 



296 RECOLLECIVONS AND LETTERS OF 

at the inward battles which ideas carry on in the 
depths of his conscience. We should not interfere 
in this spontaneous labor ; we should remain pas- 
sive before the internal modifications of our intel- 
lectual retina. Not that the result of the uncon- 
scious revolution should be a matter of indifference 
to us and that it should not yield to serious conse- 
quences ; but- we have not the right to hold a 
desire when reason speaks ; we should listen, 
nothing more ; ready to allow ourselves to be 
borne, bound hand and foot, whither the best argu- 
ments carry us. The production of the truth is an 
objective phenomenon, bound to the Ego, which 
takes place within us without our aid, a sort of 
chemical precipitate which we must content our- 
selves with contemplating with curiosity. It is 
good to pause from time to time, to withdraw into 
one's self for reflection ; to examine in what way 
the manner in which we regard the world may 
have been modified, what progress the ladder lead- 
ing from probability to certainty, the propositions 
which we have made the base of our life, may 
have made. 

One thing absolutely beyond doubt is, that in the 
universe which is accessible to our experience, 
we do not observe and we never have observed any 
passing fact which proceeds from a will, or from 
wills superior to that of man. The general consti- 
tution of the world is filled with intentions, appar- 
ent intentions at least ; but in the facts in detail 



ERNEST REN AN. 297 

there is nothing intentional. That which is at- 
tributed to angels, to daimones, to particular pro- 
vincial planetary gods, or even to one sole God 
working by special volitions, has no reality. In 
our day, nothing of this sort can be established. 
Written texts, if we take them seriously, would make 
us believe that such facts did occur in former times ; 
but historical criticism demonstrates the slight cred- 
ibility of such narrations. If the rule of special 
volitions had been the law at any epoch of the 
world, one would be able to perceive some remnant, 
some shred of such a government in the actual 
state. Now, the present actual state of things 
presents no trace of any action coming'from without. 
The state which we have before us is the result of 
a development whose beginning we do not see ; in 
the innumerable links of this chain, we do not dis- 
cover a single free action, before the appearance of 
man, or, if the expression is preferred, of human 
beings. Since the appearance of man there 
has been a free cause which has made use of the 
forces of nature for definite ends ; but this cause 
emanates from itself, from nature ; it is nature re- 
covering herself, attaining consciousness. What 
has never been beheld is the intervention of a 
superior agent to correct or direct the blind forces, 
to enlighten or ameliorate man, to prevent a fright- 
ful calamity, to hinder an injustice, to prepare the 
way for the execution of a given plan. The char- 
ficter of alpsolute precision of the world which we 



29« RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

call material, would suffice to set aside the idea of 
intention, since the intentional, nearly always, mani- 
fests itself by the lack of geometrical accuracy and 
mere approach to perfection. 

What we have just said applies with a sort of 
experimental certainty to the planet Earth, whose 
history is sufficiently well known to us to prevent 
any great peculiarity of its government escaping 
our notice. We can apply it without hesitation to 
the sun and to the whole solar system, which form, 
in company with ourselves, only^ a single, small 
cosmos. We can even apply it to the whole side- 
real system which is revealed to the inhabitants of 
the earth, thanks to the transparency of air and 
space.* In spite of the distances, surpassing all 
imagination, which separate these different bodies 
from each other and from us, we have been able to 
verify the fact that the physical forces, the mechan- 
ism, the chemistry of these bodies are identical with 
those of the solar system. There is no doubt that 
they, like the solar system, follow the laws of a 
development which contains within itself its own 
causes. In any case, were it otherwise, the ojius 
probandi — the burden of proof — would lie with 
those who should maintain the contrary, in virtue 
of the principle that we must not discuss as pos- 
sible that which no indication leads us to assume. 
Every indication, however slight, should be fol- 

* This is what I designate as universe, throughout all of 
this article, 



ERNEST RENAN. 299 

lowed up by science with zeal. But gratuitous 
assertion needs no refutation — Quod gratis asseritur 
gratis negatur. 

As we do not perceive above us any trace of in- 
telligence acting with a view to determinate ends, 
so we perceive none below us. The ant, although 
verysmall, is more intelligent than the horse ; but 
if, in the microbic order, there were very intelligent 
beings, we should perceive them through the acts 
of reflection emanating from them. Now the 
action of these tiny beings, who are the cause of 
nearly all morbid phenomena, is of such short 
range that a very advanced state of science has 
been required to perceive it ; at the present mo- 
ment, their action is still almost confounded with 
chemical and mechanical forces. So far as our 
experience goes, though it is restricted, no doubt, 
intelligence appears limited to the realm of the 
finite : above and below all is night. 

We may then assume, as a thesis, that proposi- 
tion that the ^m by internal development, without 
intervention from the exterior, is the law of the 
whole universe which we behold. An infinite 
number of blows makes everything come to pass, 
and causes the ends attained by chance to seem 
to have been attained by volition. Our universe, 
within the reach of our experiment, is not gov- 
erned by any intelligent reason. God, as the com- 
mon herd understand him, the living God, the act- 
ing God, the God-Providence, does not show him- 



300 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

self in it. The question is, to know whether this 
universe constitutes the totality of existence. 
Here doubt begins. The active God is absent 
from this universe ; does he not exist beyond it ? 

And, in the first place, is this universe infinite ? 
Does the golden dust, unequally distributed, which 
we behold above our heads, on a clear night, fill 
space ? Is it certain that there are not stations in 
space whence an eye would descry, on the one 
hand, a sky sown with stars, like the one on which 
we gaze ; on the other a black abyss, void of all 
luminous bodies ? Immense this universe certainly 
is. But what is a decillion of leagues in compar- 
ison with infinity ? 

And even if it were certain that space is filled 
with suns, and is without limits, would it follow 
that there are not other infinites of a superior or 
inferior order ? Infinitesimal calculation assuredly 
hinges on formulas only ; but these formulas are 
striking symbols. There are divers orders of in- 
finites, of which the inferior are as zero compared 
with the superior. This apparent paradox serves 
as base for the calculations of absolute truth. 
Every finite quantity, added to the infinite or sub- 
tracted from the infinite, is equivalent to zero ; 
every finite quantity is nothing when compared 
with the infinite. ^Our ideas of space and of time 
are all relative. The distance of the earth from 
Sirius is enormous, according to our measurements ; 
the interior voicls of a molecule may be ft§ coa- 



ERNEST REN AN. %o\ 

siderable for beings endowed with another criterion 
of size. The longevity of our world might, in the 
eyes of a god, appear the equivalent of a single 
day. 

All seems thus composed of worlds which hardly 
exist, so far as the others are concerned, but which 
constitute the infinite for themselves. He who 
knows France best is ignorant of what is going on 
in. a thousand little provincial centers; he who 
knows one of these little centers sees nothing 
beyond, and finds it composed of still smaller cen- 
ters, each one of which beholds only itself. Worlds 
inclosing worlds, the infinitely small of the one 
being the infinitely great of another — that is the 
truth of the matter. Our reality — that in which we 
live, which is for us the finite — is composed of infin- 
ites of an inferior order ; it serves itself to make 
superior infinites. It is an infinitely great for him 
who is beneath, an infinitely small for him who is 
above, a medium between the two infinites. 

We see little of the order of the infinite which is 
beyond us ; but the order of the infinite which is 
below us, the world of the atom, of the cell of the 
microbe composed of microbes, exists with as much 
certainty as the order of the finite, which is the 
habitual subject of our researches and of our medi- 
tations. The negatives of the memory, those in- 
numerable little images which we can dust off and 
call to life again at will, are contained beneath the 
osseous casket of our skull, in a very limited space, 



302 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

The types of generatie*i, inclosed one in another, 
like the germ of a flower in a bud, are another ex- 
ample of the infinite flexibility of space, or of its 
relativity.* The atom may contain an infinite. 
The coal which maintains warmth in our fireplaces 
is composed of little worlds which our world 
employs ; perhaps we are the atom of carbon 
which maintains the warmth of another world. 
We do not behold God in this universe ; atheis-ni 
is logical and fatal in this case ; but this universe 
is, perhaps, subordinate ; possibly one is an atheist 
because one does not see far enough. Do endless 
circles command each other, or does a fixed and 
immovable absolute unite the infinite zones of the 
variable and mutable, according to the beautiful 
biblical formula : Tu autein idem ipse est^ et anni tvi 
non deficiuntl — For Thou art the same, and Thy 
years fail not. We know absolutely nothing about 
it. 

It is in the comparison of the atom with the 
universe that infinitesimal considerations receive 
their just application. Relatively to the order of 
grandeurs in which we live, the atom is an infinitely 
small thing, a zero. Relatively to the size below 
the atom is infinitely great. The atom is for us a 
point of resistance : the conception of the atom as 
a solid plenum^ as small as one pleases, must be 

* The considerations of modern geometry upon space hav- 
ing more than three dimensions are, perhaps, connected with 
the reality in this case. 



ERNEST RENAN. 303 

set aside, it seems ; since the indivisible plenum 
does not exist in nature. Our universe, although 
composed of bodies which leave immense empty 
spaces between them, is, in reality, impenetrable. 
Let us assume that an arrow is shot with infinite 
force from the confines of the universe ; that arrow 
would not traverse the universe, thinly scattered as 
it is in appearance ; it would encounter bodies 
without number which would stop it ; just as a 
bullet could not pass through a cloud without get- 
ting wet. 

An atom of a simple body, an atom of gold, for 
example, can thus be conceived as a universe, 
whose different components, far from forming a 
solid plenum, would be as widely separated from 
each other as the different centers of solar systems. 
Impenetrability would result from the internal 
invariability of such a body which no natural or 
scientific means has, so far, been able to assail. 
The unassailable character of the simple body 
would be analogous to the stability of the laws of 
our universe, or rather, to the absence of special 
wills in the government of this universe. The 
absence of all external intervention, in the order of 
things which we see, would answer to the fact that 
no chemist has succeeded, up to the present, in 
destroying that grouping of an infinite primordial 
force which constitutes an atom. 

Hence, it is not exact to say : " The universe 
which we see is eternal," any more than it is exact 



304 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

to say : *' The atom is eternal." The atom has had 
a beginning— a phenomenon which has had a begin- 
ning, it will come to an end. That which has never 
had a beginning and which will never have an end 
is the all-absolute, it is God. Metaphysics is a 
science which has but one line : " Something exists; 
hence, something has existed from all eternity " ; 
such an affirmation is equivalent to " no effect 
without a cause," an assertion which certainly con- 
tains an element of experimentalism. But, between 
this primordial existence and the world which we 
see, there are infinite intervals. The world which 
we see, and the atom of a simple body have, per- 
haps, existed, for decillions of decillions of cen- 
turies ; or, what amounts to the same thing, for 
decillions of decillions of centuries no special will 
has assailed either our universe or the atom. As 
the human imagination does not grasp the difference 
between the infinite and the indefinite, this suffices 
for the certainties which we require. We cannot 
distinguish between the probability of a milliard 
against one and certainty. The induction : "The 
sun rose to-day, hence it will rise to-morrow," gives 
us full security ; that great fabric of approaches to 
things, which constitutes human life, finds a more 
solid base than itself in this fact that, never, to our 
knowledge, have the laws of nature been infringed. 
But, because this has not happened, at least 
within an enormous period, have we a right to con- 
clude that it never will happen ? Perhaps the 



ERNEST RENAN. 3^5 

world is the toy of a Superior Being, the experi- 
mental piece of a transcendent savant, who pos- 
sesses the final secrets of being. Will some 
chemist of genius succeed, one of these days, in 
decomposing the simple atom or in suppressing it ? 
Until the eve of the day when such a discovery 
shall be made, the consciousnesses which may ex- 
ist in the atom * will say, as we say : " the world is 
immutable, eternal," and Lit the moment of the 
discovery, they will recognize their error. In the 
same way, a Superior Being may, one day, direct 
an attack upon the law of stability of our universe, 
without much mpre concern for the beings which 
dwell there than the laborer who hacks apart a 
clod of earth concerns himself about the insects 
who may be living out their little lives in it. 
Without going into the profundities of chemical 
action, let us take as the object of our meditation 
such an atom lost among the masses of granite 
which form the substratum of our shores. It has 
been in existence for thousands of centuries, and, 
if there are in that atom sentient beings their 
opinion must be that their world, so tiny for us, so 
great for them, is impenetrable, infinite, autono- 

* The atom is no more conscious than the universe; 
nothing proves it, at least ; but, just as the universe, uncon- 
scious as a whole, contains consciousnesses — that of man, for 
example — which do not make themselves felt in the whole ; 
so the atom may contain, in its elements, twice as infinitely 
small, in comparison with us, consciousnesses which do not 
make themselves felt in the whole. 



$o6 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

mous, alive in itself. They would be mistaken, 
nevertheless. Opposite the coast of Brittany, 
where I am writing these lines,* I used to behold 
in my childhood an island, Grand Island, which 
has now almost completely disappeared. M. 
Haussmann caused it to disappear ; the masses 
of granite of which it was composed at the present 
moment form the sidewalks of the boulevards in 
Paris, which were constructed under the Second 
Empire. When the mine began to work in those 
depths, the astonishment of the millions of milliards 
of tiny worlds which lay hidden there from us, in a 
shadow which was absolute to us, must have been 
very great. And only the granitic universes 
situated at the points of fracture could have noticed 
anything. In the interior of the slabs which we 
tread underfoot in Paris, slumber millions of uni- 
verses, as tranquil in their error touching the auton- 
omy of their world as when they formed part of 
the cliffs of Brittany. The light will dawn for 
them only on the day when they are reduced to 
macadam. 

The surprise experienced by the little universes 
of the granite cliffs of Grand Island, the surprise 
which the world contained in an atom of gold 
would experience if the gold were dissolved, may 
be in store for us. A God may reveal himself one 
of these days. The eternity of our universe is no 
longer assured, from the moment that we have a 
* September^ 1888. 



ERNEST RENAN. 3^7 

right to suppose that it is a finite, subordinated to 
an infinite. The superior infinite may dispose of 
it, utilize it, apply it to its ends. " Nature and its 
author " is not, perhaps, so absurd an expression 
as it seems. Everything is possible — even God. 
The history of the universe has never shown, some- 
one may object, so far as man can know, any reason 
for forming such an hypothesis. No doubt ; but 
the atoms of the deep-lying layers of granite on 
Grand Island were also a very long time in per- 
ceiving the existence of humanity. God does not 
make appearances in the world which we can 
measure and observe ; but we cannot prove that 
he does not make them in the infinity of time. 
Man does not see falsely, as subjective skeptics 
suppose ; he sees in a narrow way. His universe 
is great and old, no doubt ; it is a in the formula 
x-\-z^ and in this case, «=o. 

Hence, it is not impossible that outside the uni- 
verse which we know — finite or infinite, it matters 
not which — there is an infinite of another order, 
in which our universe is only an atom. This in- 
finite, which would be God * for us, may reveal 
itself only at intervals, in our estimation extremely 
long, but insignificant in the bosom of the absolute. 
From this point of view, the existence of a God 
with special volitions, who does not appear in our 

* I speak in a relative sense. A being which infinitely sur- 
passes us and discloses himself to us by special intentional acts, 
would be God for us, as ma'n is the god of the animal. 



3o8 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

universe, may be considered possible in the womb 
of the infinite, or, at least, it is as rash to deny it as 
to affirm it. 

II. 

The innumerable individual consciousnesses 
which the planet Earth has produced, which the 
other planets, the other suns may have produced, 
certainly have the air of being destined to remain 
inclosed, as in a capsule, in the universe to which 
they have belonged. The renewal of these con- 
sciousnesses would constitute a miracle, as those 
theologians have thought who have maintained 
that the soul of man is immortal, not in its nature, 
but through a special volition of God. In the sur- 
roundings which we are experimenting upon, 
miracles do not take place ; but, from the point of 
view of the infinite, nothing is impossible. It is 
very curious that the Jews, who, without entertain- 
ing the least belief in an immortal soul, have con- 
tributed the most toward disseminating the ideas 
as ta future recompenses, under the form of belief 
in the kingdom of God and the resurrection, formed 
an analogous image, conceiving the apparitions of 
divine justice as intermittent, and the awakening 
of the just as a miracle wrought directly by God. 
This was, assuredly, better than the sophisms of 
the "Phaedo." The infinity of the future settles 
many difficulties. If God exists, he must be good, 
and he will end by being just. Man would thus 



ERNEST RENAN. 309 

be immortal in the infinite, to infinity. The two 
great postulates of human life, God and the immor- 
tality of the soul, which are gratuitous assumptions 
from the point of view of the finite in which we 
live, are, perhaps, true, within the limits of the 
infinite. 

As time, in fact, exists only in a wholly relative 
manner, a sleep of a decillion years is no longer 
than a sleep of an hour. Paradise does not 
exist ; perhaps it will exist, in a decillion of years. 
Those whom a tardy justice will place there, once 
more, will think that they died the day before. 
As in the legend of the Middle Ages, when they 
feel of their death-bed, they will find it still warm. 
To have been is to be. Consecutiveness is the 
absolute condition of our spirit ; but, in the object, 
consecutiveness and simultaneousness are con- 
founded. From this point of view, a display of 
fireworks is eternal. My grandson, who is five 
years old, amuses himself so well in the country 
that his only grief consists in being obliged to go 
to bed. "Mamma," he asks his mother, *' will the 
night be long to-day ? " When, in the presence of 
death, we ask ourselves : " Will this night be long ? " 
we are no less artless. 

Here the mystery is absolute ; we do feel within 
us the voice of another world, but we do not know 
what that world is. What does this voice tell us? 
Things that are tolerably clear. Whence comes 
that voice ? Nothing is mpre obscure. This yPlce 



3IO RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

makes itself heard by us through unexplained in- 
clinations, impalpable pleasures, little elfin airs, 
fugitive, intangible, which insinuate to us devotion, 
which render us capable of duty, inspire us with 
courage, make us experience the seductions of 
beauty. It bursts forth, above all, in those sublime 
absurdities in which one becomes entangled, know- 
ing all the while that one is making a very bad bar- 
gain, in those four grand follies of man, love, re- 
ligion, poetry, virtue ; providentially useless things 
which the egotistical man denies, and which, in 
spite of him, lead the world. It is when we listen 
to these divine voices that we really hear the har- 
mony of the celestial spheres, the music of the infi- 
nite. PrcBsiet fides suppleinentiim sensuiim defectui — 
Let faith supply that in which sense is deficient. 

Love is the first of these great revelatory in- 
stincts which rule all creation, and which seem to 
have been imposed by a supreme will* Its great 
excellence lies in the fact that all beings participate 

* It is surprising that science and philosophy, adopting the 
frivolous system of people of the world of treating the case, 
which is mysterious above all others, as a simple matter for 
pleasantries, should not have made of love the capital object of 
their researches and their speculations. It is the most extra- 
ordinary and the most suggestive fact of the universe. Through 
a prudery which has no sense in the system of philosophical 
reflection, people do not mention it, or confine themselves to a 
few foolish platitudes. People will not see that they are in the 
presence of the nodal point of things, in the presence of the 
most profound secret in the world. The fear of fools should 



ERNEST KENAN. 31 1 

in it, and that we clearly perceive its connection 
with the ends of the universe. Its first nest ap- 
pears to have been in the origins of life, in the cell. 
The beginning of the duality of the sexes commu- 
nicated to it a direction which thenceforth never 
underwent change, and produced marvelous blos- 
somings. The dissonance of the two sexes, uniting 
at a certain height in a divine consonance, whence 
is born the perfect accord of creation, is the funda- 
mental faith of the world. In the vegetable king- 
dom, these mysterious aspirations are summed up 
in the flower — the flower, that unrivaled problem, 
before which our giddiness passes with stupid in- 
attention ; the flower, a language splendid or 
charming, but absolutely enigmatical, which seems, 
indeed, an act of adoration from the earth to an 
invisible lover, according to a rite which remains 
always the same. The tiny flower, in fact, which 
man hardly sees, is as perfect as the great one. 
Nature employs the same coquetry in its fabrica- 
tion ; the same being is reflected in both. 

not, however, prevent that which i.s serious from being treated 
seriously. Physiologists will see nothing in it but that which 
is connected with the play of the organs. I spoke one day to 
Claude Bernard of the deep significance contained in the fact 
of sexual attraction. He answered me, after a momentary 
reflection: "No; they are clearly defined functions, conse- 
quences of nutrition." Very good ; but, in that case, let a 
science be founded which shall occupy itself with the obscure 
consequences of the clearly defined functions, Why, for ex- 
ample, has the flower perfume ? 



3 1 2 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE TTERS OF 

In the bosom of the animal kingdom, the equiva- 
lent of the flower is the intoxication of joy of the 
child, the beauty of the young girl, that gleam of a 
day, that luminous exudation which, like the phos- 
phorescence of the glowworm, shows the feverish 
ardor of a life aspiring to its blossoming. Like 
the flower, beauty is impersonal ; the effort of the 
individual counts for nothing here. It is born, 
appears for a moment, vanishes, like a natural phe- 
nomenon. Nature in her entirety is herself a great 
flower full of harmony. One finds therein no fault 
of design. " It is we," people say, '' who put this 
harmony into it." How does it happen, then, that 
man so often spoils nature ? The world is beauti- 
ful until man touches it ; absurdities, awkward- 
nesses, bad taste, false colors, crudities, deformi- 
ties, vileness begin with the appearance of man in 
this paradise, hitherto immaculate. 

With the animal love has been the principle of 
beauty. It is because, at that moment, the male 
bird makes a supreme effort to please, that his 
colors are more vivid, and his form better out- 
lined.* With man, love has been a school of 
gentleness and courtesy. I will add, of religion 
and morals. An hour when the most wicked 
being experiences an impulse of tenderness, when 

* Things have been overturned by humanity. The true 
analogue of the beauty of the male is the modesty of the fe- 
male. A little air of reserve, of timidity, of touching subjec- 
tion, has finally become more attractive to man th^n beauty. 



ERNEST REN A N. 2,1 ^ 

the narrowest individual has the sentiment of in- 
timate communion with the universe is, assuredly, 
a divine hour. It is because, at that hour, man 
hears the voice of nature, that in it he contracts 
lofty duties, takes sacred vows, tastes supreme 
joys, or prepares for himself acute remorse. In 
any case, it is the hour in his fugitive life when 
man is at his best. The immense sensation which 
he experiences when he thus emerges, in a man- 
ner, from himself, shows that he really comes 
in contact with the infinite. Love, understood 
in a lofty way, is thus a religious thing, or rather, 
a part of religion. Could one believe that friv- 
olity and folly have succeeded in causing this 
ancient remnant of relationship with nature to be 
regarded as a shameful remains of animalism ? Is 
it possible that so holy an aim as that of continu- 
ing the species could have been attached to a 
culpable or ridiculous act ? One attributes to the 
Eternal, by this supposition, a grotesque intention 
or a veritable piece of buffoonery. 

The serious character of love has been obliter- 
ated by levity. Duty is surely something from 
above, since it is accompanied by no pleasure and 
often entails harsh sacrifices. And nevertheless, 
man clings to it almost as much as to love. Man 
is grateful when he is furnished with reasons for 
believing in devotion ; to prove duty to him is to 
find his titles of nobility for him once more. One 
is not welcome when one proposes to deliver him 



314 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

from it. The care of the animal for its offspring, 
a multitude of facts which show us the need of 
sacrifice in consciences the most egotistical in ap- 
pearance, prove that very few beings avoid the 
commandments established by nature in view of 
ends for which they themselves care very little. 
Duty and the instincts for building a nest and 
hatching, in the bird, have the same providential 
origin. Even in the most vulgar life, the share of 
what is done for God is enormous. The most 
degraded being prefers to be just rather than 
unjust ; we all adore, we all pray many times in 
the day, without knowing it. 

Whence come those voices, now sweet, now 
austere? They come from the universe, from God, 
if you like. The universe, with which we are con- 
nected as by an umbilical cord, will have devotion, 
duty, virtue ; in order to attain its ends, it employs 
religion, poetry, love, pleasure, all sorts of decep- 
tions. And what the universe wills, it will always 
compel ; for it possesses unprecedented ruses to 
support its decrees. The most self-evident courses 
of reasoning of the critics will not be able to do 
anything toward demolishing these sacred illusions. 
Women, in particular, will always offer resistance ; 
we may say what we will, they will not believe us, 
and we are delighted at it. That which is in us, 
without our own will and in spite of ourselves, the 
unconscious, in a word, is the rev^ation above all 
others. Religion, the summing up of moral needs, 



ERNEST RE NAN. 315 

of man's virtue, modesty, disinterestedness, sacri- 
fice, are the voice of the universe. Everything is 
contained in an act of faith to instincts which 
assail us, without convincing us ; in obedience to a 
language coming from the infinite, a language per- 
fectly clear, as to what it commands us, obscure as 
to what it promises. We see the charm ; we baffle 
it ; but it will never be broken, for all that. Quis 
posidt ill visceribiis honiinis sapieiitia7n ? — Who has 
placed understanding in the bowels of man ? 

Of this supreme resultant of the total universe 
we can say only one thing, that it is good. For, if 
it were not good, the total universe, which has ex- 
isted from all eternity, would have been destroyed. 
Let us suppose a banking house which has existed 
from all eternity. If this house had the least de- 
fect in its basis, it would have suffered bankruptcy 
a thousand times. If the balance of the world 
were not liquidated by a surplus to the profit of 
the shareholders, the world would have ceased to 
exist long ago. A profit, a favorable remainder is 
the result of this immense balancing of the ledgers 
of good and evil. This surplus of good is the 
reason for the universe's existence, and for its 
preservation. Why be, if there is no profit in being ? 
It is so easy not to be. 

I regard as superficial the objections which some 
learned men raise against finality, by calling atten- 
tion to certain imperfections of nature, defects of 
the human body, for example, such and such a 



3l6 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

muscle which constitutes a lever of the least effect- 
ive sort, the eye constructed with a singular approx- 
imation only to what it should be. One forgets 
that the conditions of creation, if one may express 
one's self thus, are limited by the balancing of con- 
flicting advantages and inconveniences. It is a 
curve determined beforehand by the asesmbling of 
its co-ordinates, and written in advance in an ab- 
stract equation. A better lever to the forearm 
would have given us the conformation of pelicans. 
An eye which should avoid the defects of the present 
eye would fall, probably, into more serious incon- 
veniences still. More powerful brains than the 
best human brains can be conceived ; but they 
would have entailed for those endowed with them 
congestions and cerebral fevers. A man who 
should never be ill, on the other hand, would 
probably be condemned to incurable mediocrity. 
A humanity which was not revolutionary, tor- 
mented by Utopias, would resemble an ant-hill, 
a China which believes that it has found the per- 
fect form and abides by it. A humanity, which 
was not superstitious, would cherish discour- 
aging positivism. Now, nature possesses a sort 
of foresight ; she does not create that which 
would be destined to perish through an inherent 
blemish. She divines the roads which have no 
exit, and does not entangle herself in them. 

Certain inconveniences of the body are like 
historical abuses, which the progress of evolution 



ERNEST REN AN. 3^7 

has not taken an interest in reforming. When the 
inconvenience has been sufficiently grave to kill 
the individual and extinguish the species, the 
struggle has been to the death ; the mortal blemish 
has been corrected, or the species has become 
extinct ; but when the defect — for example, the 
useless prolongation of the caecum — was merely of 
a nature to produce some maladies, some deaths, 
nature has not considered it worth her while to 
take violent measures for so small a matter. It is 
thus that, in a society, the extirpation of great 
abuses is easier than the correction of the lesser 
abuses ; for, in the first case, it is a question of 
life and death ; in the second, no one takes suffi- 
cient interest in the reform to e^igage in a radical 
battle. The objections of the learned men, who 
hold themselves on their guard against what they 
consider a resurrection of finalism, are directed, at 
bottom, against the system of a wise and omnipo- 
tent Creator. They do not bear upon our hypoth- 
esis of a profound nisus (pressure) exerting itself 
in a blind way in the abysses of being, urging 
all to existence, at every point in space. This 
nisiis is neither conscious nor all-powerful ; it puts 
the matter which is at its disposal to the best pos- 
sible profit. Hence it is quite natural that it should 
not have made things which offer contradictory 
perfections. It is natural, also, that the part of the 
cosmos which we behold should present limits and 
gaps, arising from the insufficiency of the material? 



31 B RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

which nature had under its control at a given 
point. It is the nisus acting upon the totality of 
the universe which will perhaps, some day, be con- 
scious, omniscient, omnipotent. Then a degree of 
consciousness can be realized of which nothing at 
the present time can give us an idea. In the 
Middle Ages, the highest result of the world, at 
least of the planet Earth, was a choir of monks 
chanting psalms. The science of our epoch, 
responding to the desire which the world feels for 
knowing itself, attains very superior effects. The 
College of France is far beyond the most per- 
fect Abbey of the Order of the Cistercians. The 
future will, no doubt, bring about far finer results 
still. In the infinite, the absolute Being, having 
reached the acme of his deific evolutions, and 
understanding himself perfectly, will, perhaps, 
realize these fine verses of the Christian mysticism : 

Illic secum habitans in penetralibus, 
Se rex ipse suo contuitu beat.* 

III. 

Thus the two fundamental dogmas of religion, 
God and immortality, remain rationally undemon- 
strable ; but one cannot say that they are smitten 
with absolute impossibility. The touching efforts 
of humanity to save these two dogmas must not be 

* Dwelling alone in strictest solitude, the king delights in 
hi? happiness. 



ERNEST REN AM. 31^ 

censured as being a pure chimera. A general con- 
sciousness of the universe, a soul of the world, are 
things which experience has never proved ; but a 
molecule from one of our bones has no suspicion 
of the general consciousness of the body of which 
it forms a part, of that which constitutes our unity. 
The most logical attitude of the thinker in the 
presence of religion is to act as though it were 
true. One must behave as though God and the 
soul existed. Religion thus comes under the head 
of those numerous hypotheses, such as the 
ether, the electric, nervous, luminous, and caloric 
fluids, the atom itself, which we are well aware are 
only symbols, convenient means of explaining phe- 
nomena, and which we uphold all the same. God, 
creating the world by virtue of profound calcula- 
tions, is a very coarse formula ; but things con- 
duct themselves very nearly as though that was 
what did take place. The soul does not exist as a 
separate substance ; but things go on very much 
as though it did exist. Nothing has ever been re- 
vealed to any human family by supernatural voices, 
and yet revelation is a metaphor which religious 
history finds it difficult to dispense with. The 
eternal paradise promised to man has no reality, 
and nevertheless, it is necessary to act as though 
it had ; it is necessary that those who do not be- 
lieve in it should surpass in goodness and in abne- 
gation those who do believe in it. 

People are accustomed to present these two 



3 2 o RE COLLE C TIONS A ND LE TTERS OF 

great consolatory dogmas, God and immortality, 
as the postulates of the moral life of Christianity ; 
and certainly, this is right, in many respects. To 
act for God, to act in the presence of God, are 
conceptions requisite to a virtuous life. We do 
not demand a rewarder ; but we do wish for a 
witness. The recompense of the cuirassiers of 
Reichsofen in eternity is the phrase of the old 
Emperor : " Oh ! the brave fellows ! " We should 
like a phrase of that sort from God. Sacrifices ig- 
nored, virtue misunderstood, the inevitable errors 
of human justice, the irrefutable calumnies of his- 
tory, render legitimate, or rather lead fatally to, 
an appeal from the consciousness oppressed by 
fatality to the consciousness of the universe. This 
is a right which the virtuous man will never re- 
nounce. In the heroic situations of the Revolu- 
tion, the necessity of the immortality of the soul 
was claimed by nearly all parties. The solicitude 
of the men of that epoch for their memoirs and 
their justificatory documents, depended on the 
same principle. They wrote and wrote, persuaded 
that there would be someone to read them. They 
imperatively demanded a judge beyond the tomb ; 
they demanded it from, the consciousness of the 
world, or from the consciousness of humanity. 
Humanity is thus driven to bay in this singular 
pass without exit that, the more it reflects, the 
more it perceives the moral necessity of God and 
immortality, and the better also it perceives the 



ERNEST REN AN. 321 

difficulties which rise against the dogmas whose 
necessity it affirms. 

These difficulties are of the gravest ; they must 
not be concealed. Ancient religious ideas were 
founded on the narrow concept of a world created 
several thousand years ago, of which the earth and 
man were the center. A little earth containing a 
computable number of inhabitants, a little heaven 
surmounting it like a cupola, a celestial court a few 
leagues away in the air, all busied with the childish 
affairs of mankind, with the Isles of the Blessed, 
situated to the Westward, whither the dead betake 
themselves in a bark, or a paper paradise, which 
the slightest scientific reflection will tear asunder, 
that is a world which a God with a great white 
beard can easily wrap in the folds of his garment. 
When Nimrod launched his arrows against heaven, 
they returned to him stained with blood ; we may 
shoot as we will, the arrows no longer return to us. 
The enlargement of the idea of the world, and the 
scientific demolition of the ancient anthropocentric 
hypothesis, in the sixteenth century, is the capital 
moment in the history of the human mind. Aris- 
tarchus of Samos had the first gleam of light on 
that point, and he was considered impious. The 
rage of the Church against the founders of the new 
order — Copernicus, Giordano Bruno, Galileo — was 
sufficiently consistent in the same line. The little 
world over which the Church had reigned, with its 
dogmas restricted to the earth, was irrevocably 



32 2 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

broken. The most modern views upon the ages of 
nature and the revolutions of the globe, by throw- 
ing open to man the perspective of the infinite of 
past time, have had the same result in a still more 
conclusive fashion. 

We shall not be able to reconstruct the ancient 
dreams. If the law of the world were a narrow 
fanaticism, if error were the condition of human 
morality, there would be no reason to take an 
interest in a globe vowed to ignorance. We 
love humanity because it produces science ; we 
hold fast to morality because honest races alone 
can be scientific races. If we Were to set ignorance 
as the necessary limit of humanity, we should no 
longer see any reason for caring about its ex- 
istence. The humanity which the reactionaries 
invoke by their desires would be so insignificant 
that I should prefer to see it perish by anarchy and 
lack of morality, rather than by folly. The return 
of humanity to its ancient errors, regarded as in- 
dispensable to its morality, would be worse than 
its utter demoralization. 

Hence we must make our choice, and in our 
views of the universe avoid the absurdity of the 
provincials, who seeing nothing beyond their own 
clock-tower, imagine that all the world is troubling 
itself about their affairs, that the king's sole solici- 
tude is for their petty town, that God even has an 
opinion about the petty cliques into which it is 
split up. Humanity is in the world what an ant- 



E RATE ST REI^AAT. 323 

hill is in a forest. The internal revolutions of an 
ant-hill, its decadence, its ruin, are secondary 
matters in the history of a forest. If humanity suf- 
fers shipwreck for lack of knowledge or virtue — if 
it fails in its vocation, its duties — analogous occur- 
rences have taken place thousands of times in the 
history of the universe. Let us then take care not 
to believe that postulates are the measure of 
reality. Nature is not obliged to bend to our little 
conventions. To this declaration of man : ^' I 
cannot be virtuous without such or such a chimera," 
the Eternal has a right to reply ; '' So much the 
worse for you. Your chimeras will not force me 
to change the order of fatality." 

What still further weakens a priori reasoning on 
this point is, that among the postulates of hu- 
manity, there are some which are notoriously im- 
possible. It must be noted well that the God 
which the greater part of humanity assumes is not 
the God situated in the infinite, whose existence 
we admit as possible. That God is too distant for 
piety to attach itself to. What the vulgar herd 
wishes is a God who certainly does not exist, a 
God who busies himself about rain and fair 
weather, about war and peace, about the jealousies 
of men among each other, who can be made to 
change his mind by importunity. Humanity, in 
(jther terms, would like to have a God for itself, a 
God who takes an interest in its quarrels, a special 
God of the planet, ruling it like a good governor. 



324 RECOLLECTIONS AND LE ITERS OF 

like the provincial gods dreamed of by paganism 
in its decadence. Each nation goes further; it 
would like to have a God for itself alone. An 
idol would suit it still better, and, if a free course 
were accorded to the desires of men, they would 
claim powers for their national relics, for their 
sacred images.* " How many postulates which will 
not be taken into account in the least I Man 
needs a God who shall be in conformity with his 
planet, his century, his country : does it follow 
that such a God exists ? Man has need of per- 
sonal immortality : does it follow that this immor- 
tality exists ? In other words, man is in despair 
at forming part of an infinite world in which he 
counts for zero. A paradise composed of a de- 
cillion of beings is not at all the little family para- 
dise, where people know each other, where they 
continue to be neighborly, to barter and intrigue 
together. God must be petitioned to contract the 
world, to put Copernicus in the wrong, to bring us 
back to the cosmos of the Campo Santo of Pisa, 
surrounded by nine choirs of angels, and held in 
the arms of Christ. 

Thus we arrive at this strange result, that 

* This is why vulgar devotion goes further in the case of 
the saints than with God. Pure deism will never be the relig- 
ion of the people ; in fact the deist and the common herd do 
not adore the same God. There exists here a certain mis- 
understanding, with which a certain philosophy has been able 
to cover itself in time of war, but over which it must cherish 
a scruple in time of peace. 



ERNEST REN AN. 325 

immortality is, a priori, the most necessary of 
dogmas and, a posteriori, the most feeble. Like 
the ant or the bee, we work from instinct at com- 
mon tasks, whose bearing we do not see. The 
bees would cease their toil, if they read articles 
which told them that their honey would be taken 
from them, that they would be killed in recompense 
for their toil. Man goes on still in spite of his sic 
vos non vobis — this do ye, but not for yourselves. 
We see neither that which is above us, nor that 
which is beneath us. ** We are the chain-gang," 
a man of superior mind said to me. The divine 
intentions are obscure. We are one of the mil- 
lions of fellahs who worked at the Pyramids. 
The result is the Pyramid. The work is anony- 
mous, but it lasts ; each one of the workmen lives 
in it. What would really not be unjust, is what the 
factory workmen are demanding, that we should 
be associated in the work of the universe in the 
matter of participating in the profits, that we 
should, at least, know something of the results of 
our labors. Now, though admitted to the labors, 
we are not admitted to the dividends, and even our 
salary is very badly paid to us. Others would get 
up a strike ; as for us, we go on just the same. 

Upon the whole, the existence of a conscious- 
ness superior to the universe is much more prob- 
able than individual immortality. We have no 
other foundation for our hopes in this respect than 
the great presumption as to the goodness of the 



326 RECOLLECTIONS AND LETTERS OF 

Supreme Being. Everything will be possible to 
him one of these days. Let us hope that he will 
then wish to be just, and that he will then restore, to 
those who have contributed to the triumph, the con- 
sciousness of life. This will be a miracle. But the 
miracle, that is to say, the intervention of a Supe- 
rior Being, which does not take place now, may 
possibly, some day, when God shall be conscious, 
be the normal rule of the universe. The Judseo- 
Christian dreams, placing the reign of God at the 
termination of humanity, will still preserve their 
grandiose truth. The world, now governed by a 
blind or impotent consciousness, may be governed 
some day by a more thoughtful consciousness. 
All injustice will then be repaired, all tears dried. 
Absterget deus omnem lacrymam ab oculis eoru??i — God 
shall wipe away every tear from their eyes. 

The pearl oyster appears to me to be the best 
image of the universe, and of the degree of con- 
sciousness which we must assume in the whole. 
At the bottom of the abyss, obscure germs create 
a singular consciousness badly served by organs 
yet tremendously clever in attaining its ends. 
What is called a malady of their little living cosmos, 
superinduces a secretion of ideal beauty, the pos- 
session of which men dispute with each other at 
cost of gold. The general life of the universe is, 
like that of the oyster, vague, obscure, singularly 
restricted, slow in consequence. Suffering creates 
mind, intellectual and moral movement. Malady 



ERNEST REN AN. 327 

of the world, if you will, pearl of the world in 
reality, the mind is the goal, the final cause, the 
last and certainly the most brilliant result of the 
world which we inhabit. It is very probable that, 
if there are ulterior results, they are of an in- 
finitely more elevated order. 



THE END. 



SEP -0 i3'i2 



